


the loveliest thing

by noodletastic



Series: again and again [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, First Time, Friends With Benefits, M/M, References to Depression, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodletastic/pseuds/noodletastic
Summary: "Rin?""Mm?""I miss ya." Osamu closes his eyes against the guilt that always follows. He wants Rin so badly he could choke on it, but it feels like he is so far away.And it's not like Rin is his, anyway.---or, the story of what happened between osamu and suna.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Osamu & Akaashi Keiji, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: again and again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184069
Comments: 64
Kudos: 454
Collections: Inarizaki Serotonin Rush





	the loveliest thing

**Author's Note:**

> hi! to fully enjoy this fic, i recommend reading "again, like this" first. but i'm not your mom.

Osamu hadn’t meant to start smoking.

He got his job at the restaurant the month after graduation, after Rin and Atsumu had both moved off to be professional players. He isn’t jealous. Really. They both love volleyball more than he ever has, and he’s happy that they get to go off and chase their dreams. 

He’s just been lonely. Achingly lonely. At this point, the pit in his stomach feels permanent. 

He still has his ma, Kita is nearby, and if he’s feeling particularly desperate, there are a handful of kouhai he could bother if he ever wanted a distraction. But as much as he hates to admit it, there’s no one who could replace Atsumu. Irritating, nagging, whining, obnoxious Atsumu, who has driven him to violence more times than he can count, was mandated by destiny to be his other half.

And then there’s Rin, who at some point had wrapped Osamu’s heart in his pretty hand and then seen fit to drag it off with him to Nagoya.

So he hadn’t meant to start smoking. But suddenly he was surrounded by older men who spent any free moment they weren’t slinging meat and slicing vegetables in the restaurant's cramped kitchen in the alley out back sucking down cigarettes like a lifeline. Pretty waitresses held filters between manicured nails and laughed around smoke when Osamu slumped past them with bulging trash bags. 

He hadn’t seen the appeal. He didn’t like the smell of it or the cost of it, both monetary and physical. But he saw how the other cooks would slip away with tight shoulders and pinched scowls and return relaxed and, well-

Osamu couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly relaxed.

So one night, he trailed after one of the other young cooks - Hitoshi, who had laughed at him when he was fresh on the line and cheerfully corrected him every time he fucked up an order - and quietly asked if he could bum one, please.

“You sure?” Hitoshi asked. He pulled a cigarette for himself, tucking it between his chapped lips.

Osamu swallowed, and his mouth was uncomfortably dry, but he said, “Yeah.”

The first drag made him dizzy, and he leaned against the grimy brick beside Hitoshi to disguise it. He pulled until the ember was burning his fingers and clumsily mimicked Hitoshi when he flicked his filter into the opposite wall. He stayed where he was until the dizziness wore off, long after Hisashi had returned to the kitchen. 

A few minutes before, he’d been hungry - he was always hungry, had always been hungry, but lately he’d felt like he was eating to smother the void in his stomach that nothing could satisfy it. But suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore. His stomach clenched and turned over nothing, making _empty_ into something pleasant. He wasn’t sure if he felt _relaxed_ but he felt a little better, a little numb, a little fuzzy at the edges.

Tonight, the first drag feels good. Not as good as it had a few months ago, when he had first started, but it dulls the edge of his irritation enough that he feels like he can go back inside to break down the kitchen without giving in to the urge to throw his apron on the floor and walk out, job be damned.

He sighs, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes until he can feel his pulse throbbing behind the lids. Then he drops his hand, blinks the stars from his eyes, and fishes his phone from his pocket for the first time in hours.

As expected, there are roughly thirty alerts waiting for him. A handful are emails that he dismisses without a second glance. There’s a string of names piled under the Inarizaki group snapchat, but a cursory look says none of them are from Rin, so he dismisses those for later too. He does the same with pop-ups from Instagram, Facebook, everything, until he’s left with a handful of texts to sort through.

His top message is from his mother, saying, _got called in for an extra shift. :( won’t be home tonight, baby._

He smiles to himself and replies with a string of unintelligible emojis that he’s sure will make her laugh when she gets the chance to check her phone.

He opens his thread with Atsumu next, rolling his eyes at the string of nonsense waiting beneath the _new messages_ line.

 **18:02, tsumu  
** _oi!!! did u already buy kita-san a birthday gift??_

 **18:35, tsumu  
** _hey!! don’t ignore me, scrub, this is serious!!_

 **18:57, tsumu  
** _just kiddin ma said ur already at work_

 **19:00, tsumu  
** _so if ya did already buy him somethin on a scale of 1-10 how willing would u be to go half and half??_

 **19:01, tsumu  
** _i’ll pay half!! ur just better at gifts_

 **19:02, tsumu  
** _it’s literally the only thing ur better at other than cookin and bein a cunt, so i know you got him somethin good_

 **19:05, tsumu  
** _please please please please please_

 **23:13, Miya Osamu  
** _no fuckin way_

Osamu taps away, even though there’s already an alert informing him that Atsumu is typing. He opens his last unread message instead, and feels his back uncoil and melt into the wall, a smile sneaking across his face.

 **22:30, rin  
** _How was work?_

 **23:14, Miya Osamu  
** _hell. i’m quittin._

He grins at the immediate typing alert, swiping away Atsumu’s rapid-fire responses without reading them. He watches the flashing dots at the bottom of his screen and imagines Rin, curled in his bed all the way in Nagoya, probably cocooned in about fifty blankets. Tucked beneath the covers with his phone too close to his face, eyes heavy with a combination of too-little sleep, as always, and the hangover he’s been nursing all day.

 **23:15, rin  
** _You always say you’re quitting and you never do. You like it, you masochist._

 **23:16, Miya Osamu  
** _ya caught me._

 **23:17, Miya Osamu  
** _gotta close up still. gonna be awake in an hour?_

 **23:18, rin  
** _Call me when you get home._

Osamu locks his phone and flicks his cigarette to the side, unfinished.

\---

_Atsumu is vibrating beside him. Osamu can feel the excitement and anxiety coming off of him in tangible waves. He glances over, noting the wide set of his eyes, the way he keeps licking his lower lip, the way his hands are clenched in his pockets hard enough to make the tendons in his wrists stand out._

_Osamu nudges him with his elbow. “Calm down,” he mumbles. “We know ‘em all, already.”_

_“We know Aran,” Atsumu mumbles back, glancing at him and then back at the milling group of upperclassmen on the other half of the gym. Another glance tells him that Atsumu’s entire body is leaning too far forward, like he’s ready to spring over the line they’ve been told to wait on as soon as they’re called. “We don’t know the rest of ‘em.”_

_“So?” Osamu slouches his chin towards his chest, picking Aran out of the crowd. He’s talking to a smaller guy, with split-colored hair that catches Osamu’s attention. He looks almost too small to play volleyball. He could be the libero, maybe, but-_

_The maybe-libero is looking at him. The eye contact makes Osamu shiver. The other boy smiles, a faint quirk of his lips, and Osamu looks away. He feels a little feverish._

_“Okay,” he mumbles quickly, shoving his own curled fists into his pockets. “Maybe yer right.”_

_Atsumu doesn’t get to reply as the rest of the team crosses the gym to cluster in front of the row of first years. Other than Osamu and Atsumu, there are two others. They had introduced themselves as Gin and Kosaku respectively. They seem nice enough, though another cursory glance proves that they look just as nervous as Osamu suddenly feels._

_“Alright.” The captain claps his hands and grins at them. “Welcome to Inarizaki, boys-”_

_“Hold on,” the vice captain interjects. He steps forward, pointing at each of them in turn. “Yer the Miya brats-”_

_“Oi!” Atsumu juts his jaw out, flush rising in his cheeks._

_“Careful,” Aran says calmly. He’s watching them with an easy grin. “They bite.”_

_“He does,” Atsumu and Osamu say at the same time, and turn their heads to glower at each other._

_“Mostly just each other,” Aran amends._

_“And yer, ah, Ginjima? Which means yer Kosaku or-”_

_“I’m Kosaku,” Kosaku says quickly, voice cracking. “Kosaku Yuto.”_

_“We’re missin’ one,” the vice captain says, turning back to face the captain. “The recruit from Aichi-”_

_“Sorry. I got lost.”_

_Osamu turns towards the gym door. The boy stepping inside is tall, taller than Osamu and Atsumu, and skinny in a way that would make Osamu’s ma try to feed him if she saw him. But when he looks up, Osamu’s immediate thought is-_

_They don’t make boys like that in Hyogo._

_His hair is dark brown and curls at his ears and sticks up in the back at funny angles, like maybe he hadn’t bothered brushing it. Doesn’t really matter, Osamu thinks, since there’s not much that could be done to make his face look ugly._

_He doesn’t have the same baby fat clinging to his cheeks that plagues Osamu and Atsumu. Instead his jaw is pointed and almost delicate. His lips are full and wide, and a soft pink that makes Osamu think of watermelon candies. His nose is- it’s cute, with a little upturn that makes him look sharp to the touch. His eyes are narrow, framed with dark, heavy lashes, and when his gaze meets Osamu’s, it’s like being drenched in cold water. Every nerve under his skin tingles. His eyes are green or grey or hazel or-_

_Osamu doesn’t know, but he really wants to find out, and he doesn’t realize that he’s staring until he sees those sugar lips curl up in a slow smile, revealing shiny white teeth that make Osamu’s heart lurch in his chest. He can’t look away, and he knows he needs to, but he can’t-_

_“I’m Suna Rintarou,” he says, and steps into line beside Osamu. He looks at the captain, mouth flat like he hadn’t been smiling in the first place. “Sorry I’m late.”_

\---

The first thing Osamu does when he makes it home is take a shower. He can’t stand the lingering, heavy smell of grease or the sharp tang of bleach from cleaning up, much less the smoke that clings to his hair. He scrubs himself down quickly, rushing to get out, get dry, get to his phone.

Rin answers on the first ring, and for once doesn’t immediately request a video call. Osamu gives the screen an odd look, before pressing his phone to his ear.

_“Hey.”_

Osamu’s entire body sinks deeper into his mattress. He closes his eyes and doesn’t bother smothering the dopey smile he’s sure is tugging at his mouth. “Hey.”

_“So, tell me about work.”_

“Nah.” He closes his eyes and lets out a breath. “I don’t wanna talk about work.”

 _“Oh?”_ The amusement in his tone is barely noticeable, nearly indistinguishable from his usual drawl. But Osamu is fluent. _“What do you want to talk about?”_

“Anything else. Tell me about yer day, Rin.”

There’s a long pause, but it’s nothing but comfortable. If Osamu tries hard enough, he can picture Rin stretched on the mattress beside him, one hand holding his phone over his face, the other splayed across Osamu’s stomach-

( _“I like to feel you breathe,” Rin murmurs, lips pressed against the nape of his neck. He has his greedy hands splayed, one across Osamu’s belly and the other at the base of his throat, gentle, so fucking gentle. Osamu can’t move, can’t tip his head back because Rin is there, can’t tip his head forward into the delicate pressure, absolutely trapped. He exhales shortly, twisting an arm back to grip Rin’s hip. “Breathe, ‘Samu.”)_

-rising and falling with the motion of his lungs.

 _“I’ve decided Komori has to die,”_ Suna says flatly, and Osamu snorts.

“What’d he do?”

_“He’s immune to hangovers. He’s been fine all day. He drank twice as much as Washio and Washio’s been barfing since we woke up.”_

“Think he’s a demon?”

_“He’s dead to me, is what he is.”_

Osamu hums and rolls over to press his cheek into his pillow. “How you feelin’, baby?”

 _“Tired.”_ A pause. _“Really bad.”_

“Yer hangovers usually don’t last so long. Eat anything?”

_“Please don’t mention food to me. I know it’s your passion, but-”_

“Alright, alright.” Osamu huffs a laugh, smiling against his knuckles. It’s quiet again, comfortable and familiar, but Osamu feels the void in his stomach stretching wide again, unhinging its jaw, threatening to gobble him up. His fingers itch for one of the cigarettes hidden inside his work shoes.

“Rin?”

_“Mm?”_

“I miss ya.” He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw against the guilt that always comes after the admission.

It’s quiet for a moment, then Rin says, soft, _“I know, sweetheart.”_

“How long ‘til ya get to come home again?”

 _“It’s gonna be a while."_ There’s something mournful in his voice, and something careful. _“We’re going on the road for the rest of the month. I don’t have time off for about two weeks.”_

Osamu exhales slowly. It’s not okay, it isn’t, but he says, “Okay.”

_“‘Samu.”_

“It’s okay,” he repeats, as evenly as he can. Anyone else would be fooled, but Rin is fluent, too.

 _“It’s only two weeks,”_ he murmurs. _“And then I have a couple of days. I’ll come home.”_

Guilt, again. Osamu pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can come see ya. Stay at yer fancy apartment for a few days.”

_“Can you get off work?”_

“Tell me the days, and I’ll make it happen.”

_“Okay.”_

It’s quiet again, and this time it’s a little less comfortable and Osamu - _wants._ He wants Rin so badly he could choke on it, but it feels like Rin is so far away.

And it’s not like Rin is his, anyway.

“Hey,” he says, because he’s selfish, because he _wants_ and he fucking _needs_ , “Can I look at ya? Just fer a minute. I know yer tired.”

There’s a pause, and this pause is hesitation, and it makes the hair on Osamu’s arms stand up.

 _“I don’t look so good, ‘Samu,”_ Rin says slowly. _“I’ve barfed a few times today, too.”_

“You’ve never looked bad a day in yer life, Rin. If today’s the day, I’d like to see that, too.”

Rin huffs a quiet laugh and Osamu feels warm. _“I’m serious. I’ve got eyebags. My lips are chapped-”_

“Are ya tryin’ to turn me on?”

Another laugh. _“Is that all it takes?”_

“I’m easy for ya.”

There’s another pause, and when Rin speaks his voice is fond, hesitant. _“I don’t deserve that.”_

“Let me see ya, Rin. Please.”

The silence lingers for a long time, and it’s broken by the soft bell sound of a video request.

\---

_Suna Rintarou isn’t just pretty. He’s also lazy, sharp-tongued, funny, dry, insanely good at volleyball, and inexplicably, Osamu’s best friend._

_Osamu’s never really had a best friend that wasn’t Atsumu. He’d think, maybe, that Aran was a contender, but Aran treats them more like frustrating baby brothers than friends, and that’s a dynamic he’s okay with. Having Suna is different. Having Suna means late night texts, extra food at lunch, someone to gang up on Atsumu with, skipping morning practice to get breakfast every Friday. It means having secrets with someone who isn’t blood-bound to keep them._

_It also apparently means bleach fumes in the bathroom, and a phone set against the mirror to record them - “Just in case your hair falls out,” Suna says, with a lazy grin._

_Their bathroom is just big enough for Atsumu and Osamu, especially after their growth spurts last month. Adding Suna’s gangly limbs to the mix means there’s barely space to breathe with them crowded over the sink._

_Atsumu’s hair is already done. He’s fussing with his newly pale fringe in the mirror, pouting at himself in what Osamu knows is his “I look cool and untouchable” expression. It actually just makes him look like an overgrown baby. Osamu is folded awkwardly in half beside him, head shoved in the sink to rinse out the toner Suna had applied after he washed away the bleach._

_Suna is perched on the opposite side of the sink, swinging his leg idly while browsing twitter on Osamu’s phone. His calf brushes against Osamu’s thigh with every pass, and Osamu ignores how his touch stirs a jumble of confusion and arousal in his belly. He’s gotten very good at ignoring his reactions to Suna’s proximity. Good enough that Atsumu hasn’t even noticed his tiny, little, small, miniscule crush._

_He straightens up when his hair feels clean - almost too clean, a little damaged, maybe - and grabs a towel to rub it dry before it can drip on the tile. Suna glances at him out of the corner of his eye, brow twitching up, before looking back at Osamu’s phone._

_“Does it look good?” Atsumu asks, for maybe the fifth time. “Like, really, is it okay? Do ya- do ya think Kita-san maybe-”_

_“Kita-san doesn’t give a shit about yer hair,” Osamu interrupts, using the folds of his towel to hide the way his eyes linger on Suna. “Kita-san wouldn’t pay ya any more mind if ya rode into practice on a unicycle, ‘Tsumu.”_

_Atsumu makes an affronted noise and glares at him in the mirror. “Ya don’t know that! Kita-san has cool hair, so maybe-”_

_“Kita-san doesn’t care about yer hair, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu repeats, baring his teeth in an ugly smile. “Not when it’s attached to you.”_

_Atsumu cheeks go red and his mouth wobbles, somewhere between tears and fury. The blonde hair really does work on him, Osamu thinks, and stiffens his shoulder so that when Atsumu shoves past him as he storms out of the bathroom, they both have to take a stumbling step backwards. The door to their shared bedroom slams moments later._

_“So gross,” Suna mumbles. He sets Osamu’s phone aside and looks up._

_“He’s gotta get over it,” Osamu grouses. He tosses his towel to the corner of the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror, finger combing knots out of his new, gunmetal grey hair. “Kita-san’s never gonna look at ‘im like that. He’s just breakin’ his own heart.”_

_“So you’re mocking him because you care,” Suna teases._

_“Fuck off.” It’s hard to ignore the way his cheeks go pink when he’s staring at himself in the mirror. He tucks down his chin to avoid it and tries to straighten out the misplaced hair at the back of his head._

_He doesn’t look up until Suna slithers off the counter and steps up behind him. Suna is reflected back at him, standing over his shoulder. He’s still a bit taller, so he has to duck down to rest his chin against Osamu’s shoulder, peering at him in the glass. He raises a hand, twisting a piece of Osamu’s hair between clever fingers. Osamu suppresses a shiver, but he can’t do much about the blush that’s spread to his ears._

_Suna’s other arm loops lazily around his waist. It would be easy to shove away, but Osamu doesn’t. When Suna speaks, his voice is right against his ear._

_“I like it,” he says, quiet._

_“Huh?” Osamu twists his head to peek at Suna. He’s holding his breath, chest tight and hot beneath his bleach-stained t-shirt._

_“Your hair.” Suna toys with another piece. “It suits you. Look.” He nudges him, forcing him to look back at the mirror. Osamu swallows hard. “Look how pretty it makes your eyes.”_

_“Yeah,” Osamu rasps. “Pretty.”_

_The only thing he’s looking at is Suna, and the lazy curve of his lips._

\---

Osamu accepts the call and feels some of the pain in his chest ease as soon as Rin appears on his screen. He hadn’t been far off in his estimation of what Suna was doing. He’s in bed, the fuzzy green blanket that he favors twisted around his shoulders.

Rin had been right too. He doesn’t look his best. His hair is flatter than usual and over directed to the left, making it stick up in a decidedly bird-like fashion. There are shadows visible under his eyes even in the low light from his bedside lamp. They're deeper than usual, and combined with the gauntness Osamu recognizes as dehydration, he looks almost sickly. Even in the small screen, he can tell how bitten his lips look, chapped and raw.

He’s the best thing Osamu has seen all day.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs.

_“I told you I look like shit.”_

Osamu hums. “You look hungover. Sure ya ate today?” In response, Suna smiles and holds up an empty packet of his preferred gummi worms. Osamu snorts. “Real food, Rin.”

 _“I had a good lunch. Not much of an appetite, I guess.”_ He shifts, pulling his blanket around himself a bit tighter.

Osamu watches him. He’s fidgeting, which is unusual. There’s a very faint downturn to his mouth. He’s looking at Osamu, but barely, eyes focused somewhere to the left and down.

“What’s wrong?” Osamu says at last, pressing the words past the knot of anxiety threatening to close his throat.

_“Nothing.”_

It’s the most obvious lie Rin has ever told and it _burns._ They don’t lie; Atsumu lies. He and Rin have always told each other the truth, or at the very least spoken around things they didn’t want to share until they were ready.

Osamu swallows and feels like he’s choking. “Rin. What’s wrong?”

Rin sighs and shifts again. _“Nothing, ‘Samu. I’m alright.”_

Osamu huffs a laugh and sees the way his mouth twists in his viewfinder. It’s an ugly look. “Ya just gonna feed me bullshit tonight?”

Rin shoves his fingers back through his hair and it falls back into his normal part. The movement is sudden enough that his blanket slides from one shoulder and-

Oh.

Rin pulls the blanket up again, but not fast enough to hide the dark purple mark just above his collarbone. It's shaped like someone else’s mouth and the idea- the _knowledge_ that someone else had been allowed to mark him like that-

Rin’s lips press into a hard line. Osamu can’t seem to make a sound, mouth falling open into a soft _oh._

 _“It’s nothing, ‘Samu,”_ Rin says finally, words stilted. He’s still not looking at Osamu properly. His face is complicated, twisted into unfamiliar lines and-

And Osamu ends the call. He shoves his phone beneath his pillow and ignores the muffled sound of it ringing moments later, staring blankly at the ceiling for seconds, minutes, hours. His phone rings three times before going silent.

He lurches out of bed. He grabs the jacket he always wears to work and the pack of cigarettes hidden in his shoes. He goes into their overgrown garden, crouches against the side of the house with his back pressed against the brick, and smokes his way through the entire pack until his throat is raw and his stomach is turning and reminds himself _Rin is not yours._

\---

_It’s getting warm again, finally. Summer is approaching, marking the tail-end of their first year of high school. Atsumu, as usual, has succumb to a spring cold, leaving Suna and Osamu to eat lunch together on the roof alone._

_Osamu eats his lunch in the first five minutes and as soon as he’s done, Suna pushes over the second half of his without a word. Osamu eats that, too, then flops down on the ground, head pillowed against his balled up uniform jacket._

_“Wake me when it’s time to go back?”_

_“Mm,” Suna agrees, reaching over to pat a hand across his face blindly. His thumb almost ends up in Osamu’s nose. “Shh.”_

_Osamu snorts and tosses his arm across his eyes to block out the sun. It’s quiet, other than the distant chatter in the courtyard and the soft sweep of the breeze. This is his favorite time of year, before it’s too muggy and hot to be outside without guzzling water. It feels fresh, new, like nature is greeting them gently._

_Osamu is almost asleep when he hears a shutter sound. He grunts and shifts enough to peek blurrily past his arm. Suna is turned towards him, phone poised, one brow arched._

_“Am I droolin’ or somethin’?” Osamu mumbles. He raises a hand to wipe beneath his mouth, squinting one eye closed._

_“Nope.” Suna takes another picture and Osamu bares his teeth in an exaggerated growl. Suna takes another one, lips curling up in a lazy smirk._

_“What’re ya doin’ then?” Osamu pushes himself up on his elbow, tipping his head to try and see Suna’s screen._

_Suna hugs his phone to his chest and hums. “Nope. These are for me.”_

_“For you,” Osamu repeats._

_“Mmhm. My private collection.” Suna lifts his phone again and takes another picture of Osamu, who has his brows furrowed and his mouth pursed in a confused pout._

_“Private collection of what?” he asks slowly._

_“Hmm…” Suna tips his head and sets his phone aside. “For my ‘moments when I wanted to kiss Osamu’ collection. Very private.”_

_Osamu blinks once. Then again, brows furrowing deeper even as he feels his cheeks warm. “Yer what?”_

_Suna’s lips curl into a smile, a flash of teeth and squinted eyes. “Just pictures of you, looking very kissable.”_

_Osamu feels like he has a fever and he doesn’t know if he should blame his mental fog on his cat nap or on the fact that none of the words Suna’s saying make any actual, logical sense. Suna doesn’t want to kiss him. They’re friends, just friends, and Suna often mocks Atsumu’s stupid face, which is technically also Osamu’s stupid face, so-_

_Suna is still grinning at him, chin cradled in his palm, watching like an asshole while Osamu tries to process what, exactly, is happening here._

_Finally, he splutters, “Ya wanna kiss me, Sunarin?”_

_“Sometimes,” Suna agrees, blinking those pretty eyes in a way that makes Osamu's stomach tighten up, full to bursting with an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies, all flapping their wings at once._

_“Do ya-” He swallows when his voice cracks, and he feels like every bit of blood in his body has collected in his face. There’s sweat on the back of his neck, and his palms feel clammy. “Do ya wanna kiss me right now?”_

_Suna huffs a little laugh and leans forward. “What if I do?”_

_Osamu stares at him for a long moment, eyes flickering between his crinkled eyes and pink lips, before he leans forward, meeting him halfway in a brief, dry kiss. When Osamu opens his eyes again, Suna’s cheeks are the same shade as his lips._

_“I’d do that,” Osamu mumbles, meeting his eyes._

_Suna tilts his head, lips twitching in a pleased smile. “Do it again.”_

_Osamu leans forward, hooks his sweaty palm around the nape of Suna’s neck, and pulls him in._

_\---_

Osamu doesn’t fall asleep until nearly four in the morning. He combats his nicotine-induced nausea with a large glass of water and another shower before curling up in bed around his turning stomach, then does his best not to think until his brain shuts itself off.

When he wakes up, the sun is cutting through the blinds and he feels hungover despite not having a single drink. He drags his phone from beneath his pillow, squinting at the time. Nearly two o’clock. He doesn’t have to work again until Monday, though, so it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t really feel like much of anything matters.

He has a ton of alerts piled up, as fucking usual. He dismisses the missed call notifications from _rin_ , swallowing down the immediate bile that rises in his throat at the reminder of the night before. He has a string of texts from him too, that he also ignores. He saves everything else for later, and shoots a text to Atsumu about Sunday dinner before slouching out of bed.

His mother is perched on the kitchen counter when he shuffles in. She’s in her usual over-sized sleep shirt and a pair of shorts with polka dots that Atsumu and Osamu had gifted her when they were ten. Her long hair is gathered into a messy bun, the bleached ends sticking out in every direction, and she has her big at-home glasses on. She has a mug of tea clutched to her chest, and the rising steam fogs up her lenses. The usual morning routine, then.

He grunts a greeting and goes to the stove to start the kettle for his own tea. He stands over it, idly scratching his stomach, until she reaches out with a tiny foot to kick his thigh.

“ _Ma._ ”

“He speaks,” she croons, grinning over the edge of her mug. “Good mornin’, baby.”

He makes a face at her and shifts to lean his hip against the counter. “Mornin’. How was work?”

“Busy, busy.” She sets down her mug with a content hum. “How about you?”

“Fine,” he lies.

“Oh?” She arches a brow, and looks disturbingly similar to Atsumu for just a moment. They had inherited their round cheeks from her, and if not for the delicate lines at the corners of her eyes, she might be their sister rather than their mother. She lifts a hand, brushing her thumb gently beneath his eye. “Ya look like ya didn’t sleep a wink, my little racoon.”

He juts out his lower lip and allows her to go from poking his cheek to petting his hair. “I had nightmares,” he lies, and feels terrible for it. He’s usually not a liar, especially not with her. He’d told her he liked both boys and girls the day he realized it. He’d confessed that he’d had sex the morning after. She’d been the second person he’d told about quitting volleyball, when he was still unsure and scared. But he doesn’t know how to explain what happened with Suna, and doesn’t really want to.

“Hmm.” She pries a knot from his hair. She’s still swinging her feet, heels knocking quietly against the cupboard, steady as a heartbeat. “That so?”

“Yeah.” He leans his head down, butting his forehead against her shoulder to hide his face.

“Yer off tonight, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“Me too.” She tips her head to rest her cheek against his hair. “I can tell ya a bedtime story and scare those monsters away.”

“Ya know I’m nineteen, not nine, right?”

“Don’t ya dare remind me of my age.”

“Yer gorgeous, ma. Don’t ya act like ya don’t know it, either.”

She laughs and gives him a gentle push when the kettle starts whistling. “Flattery will get ya no where,” she says, but her smile is wide and pleased.

Osamu makes his tea and they migrate to the living room together. His mother commandeers the remote and turns on the newest crime drama she’s obsessed with. They burn through three episodes before Osamu peels himself off of the couch to make dinner. 

He doesn’t feel up to making anything complicated. He hasn’t for a while now. Tonight, he throws together leftover rice with the scarce vegetables they hadn’t gotten around to eating throughout the week, frying it all together in a skillet with two cracked eggs. He returns to the living room with a bowl for each of them, and tries not to feel guilty when it tastes too bland to be enjoyable.

When they’re both done, he sprawls across the couch with his head pillowed on his mother’s lap. He refuses to let himself think about Rin or the hickey or anything else. He focuses on the drone of the television and the soothing scrap of his mother’s fingers brushing through his hair. 

He doesn’t remember dozing off, but he must have, because when he opens his eyes he’s lost track of the episode. When he tries and fails to catch up to the plot, he picks up his phone instead. He sends Atsumu another (threatening) message about fish, and slowly begins sorting through the alerts that have built up on his social media in the last few days.

He’s scrolling through instagram when he sees a notice: _@sunarintarou was tagged in this post._

He hesitates. But the toxic feelings that have built up in the last few hours can’t negate years of craving. Even as the ever-familiar guilt stirs at his enduring urge to consume as much of Rin as possible, he clicks on it. 

It’s a picture posted on some random girl’s account. It was clearly taken in a club, the lights low and blue. The girl is perched at the edge of her seat in a booth, back perfectly arched to accentuate the shape of her body, a coy smile on her pretty face. Osamu doesn’t pay her much attention, more interested in Rin. Rin, who is sitting too close to her. Rin, who is letting her rest one delicate hand too-high on his thigh. Rin, who is smiling in that loose way he always does when he’s had a few too many drinks. Rin, whose eyes are sparkling, even though the lids are so heavy the green of them is nearly invisible.

The caption says: _met @sunarintarou last night! suuuper nice and like really hot!! #teamEJP #teamSuna #teamMarryMe_

Osamu stumbles to his feet, his dinner suddenly threatening to make a reappearance.

“‘Samu?”

“Bathroom,” he croaks, and forces himself not to bolt down the hall.

He heaves, and nothing comes up but stomach acid and spit. He feels nearly feverish with the _shame._ He knows. He knows they aren’t together, Rin had made that clear before he left. But Osamu-

Doesn’t matter.

He climbs back to his feet and rinses his mouth and sweaty face with cold water. When he looks in the mirror, the face reflected back at him is ashen, the bruises beneath his eyes pronounced, and just a glance is enough to reveal how miserable he is.

He returns to the living room with his shoulders curled in. “I think I’m gonna go to bed, ma,” he says, not daring to go past the doorway and let her see him properly. She’d only worry, and there’s nothing to worry about.

“Hm?” She looks up, then glances at her phone. “It’s only nine… but I guess I’m a little sleepy too.” She flashes him a grin that he does his best to return. “These night shifts aren’t so easy once ya hit thirty-six. You remember that.”

“Gotcha.” He lifts a hand. “See ya in the morning.”

“Alright, baby. Sweet dreams.”

When he returns to his room, the large bed that had replaced his and Atsumu’s bunk bed sometime in the last month makes him suddenly, desperately sad. It’s yet another reminder that Atsumu doesn’t live here anymore, that things are different, that Osamu is _alone-_

He crawls into bed. He blocks Rin’s number. He presses his burning eyes into his pillow and searches for sleep.

\---

_Things with Suna have been the same as always. They pair up for warm-ups at practice to evade Atsumu. They usually (unfortunately) eat lunch with Atsumu and sometimes Kosaku and Gin. They watch movies on the weekends and text about bullshit late at night. They don’t talk about the fact that now, sometimes, when they’re alone, they kiss. They kiss a lot of the time, actually, but it’s never come up. Things are good, Osamu thinks. And if Suna doesn’t want to mention it, he won’t either. Things stay, mostly, the same._

_“Is that- is it alright?” Osamu manages to say. He’s sort of shocked he formed an almost coherent sentence, what with the circumstances. Circumstances being that he’s balls deep in Suna for the first time ever, after about two months of dancing around the subject. Two months that had followed six months of covert making out whenever they were left alone for more than ten minutes, all wrapped up in a neat, platonic bow. They haven’t talked about it- what it means that they can’t keep their hands off of each other. Even now that they’ve decided to push it beyond kisses and exploratory touches._

_Suna breathes out a laugh. Osamu can tell he’s trying to keep his composure. He’s got that cocky smile on, the one that he uses when he’s about to tease Osamu, but the shocking pink of his cheeks and his blown pupils kind of ruin the image. And his hands are shaking where they’re clutching at Osamu’s shoulders._

_“Totally alright,” Suna says. His voice is a little breathless, and he wrinkles his nose at himself. “Fuck, I’m trying to be cool-”_

_“Please don’t try t’ be cool. I’m not feelin’ real cool,” Osamu says in a rush. What he’s feeling is unbelievably overwhelmed, and way closer to coming than he probably should be, since he hasn’t even gotten past one stroke. He refuses to be that much of a loser, but he’s beginning to think he might not have an option._

_Suna drops his head back to the mattress with a groan. “Thank God-”_

_“Please tell me I can move, Sunarin. Yer like a goddamn vice.”_

_Suna shoots him a coy look and shifts his hips. “That’s the idea, ‘Samu.”_

_Osamu rolls his eyes and lifts Suna’s knee a little higher, until it’s properly over his shoulder. “Shut up.”_

_It’s fortunate that his body kind of naturally knows what to do, and he doesn’t have to think too much as he stutters into a rhythm, because forget talking- he can barely fucking think. He’s fucking Suna, like actually, full-on having sex with Suna Rintarou, the most beautiful boy in the whole entire world._

_Everything narrows down until it’s just Suna. Suna below him, stretched across his grey and yellow striped sheets, his usually fair skin splotchy and flushed. Suna, gripping the sheets with fingers still wrapped from practice that afternoon. Suna, with his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes unwavering on Osamu's own. Suna, hot and tight around him._

_Suna's back arching, breath hitching, eyes squeezing closed because Osamu has apparently, finally done something right and-_

_And Osamu comes. It takes him completely by surprise, coiling and releasing in the space of one breath. When he blinks the stars from his eyes and he feels like he can breathe properly, Suna is staring up at him with his lip clenched between his teeth again._

_"Don't."_

_Suna bursts into giggles, hands pressing over his mouth. It’s contagious. Even though Osamu's cheeks are burning, he can't fight the smile tugging at his lips._

_"Don't laugh at me, Sunarin." He juts out his lip as best he can with joy bubbling in his chest._

_"Sorry- sorry-" Suna reaches for him, cupping his cheeks to pull him close. "You're so cute-"_

_Osamu silences him with a kiss, and doesn't stop kissing him until his laughter has turned to moans._

_\---_

Osamu is halfway to Osaka before he actually thinks about what he’s doing.

He’d gotten out of bed, tiptoed past his mother where she had fallen asleep on the couch, grabbed her keys, and climbed in the car without anything more than the clothes on his back and his phone in his pocket. He’s been fighting off bouts of tears intermittently, between rolling down his window to feel the sharp wind against his face and scrolling through radio stations, pausing only long enough to hear a couple of notes of a song or words of a host before clicking on.

He doesn’t realize he’s calling Atsumu until the line goes to his voicemail.

 _“You've reached Miya Atsumu, the better Miya. I’m busy right now, and I don’t know who calls people anymore, but leave a message if ya want,”_ says fourteen-year-old Atsumu, tinny and grating.

Osamu scoffs, hangs up, and calls again.

It clicks over to voicemail, and this time Osamu ends the call before the recording of Atsumu can finish it’s spiel. He calls again.

 _“What, ‘Samu?”_ Atsumu snaps, the moment the call connects.

Osamu’s breath freezes in his lungs. Guilt churns in his stomach and he wonders if he should pull over and try throwing up again.

_“I swear t’God, ‘Samu, if this is about the fuckin’ fish-”_

“Are you busy?” Osamu interrupts. He winces at his own voice, how it comes out rough and terrible. Atsumu won’t miss that.

A pause. _“Nah, ‘Samu, never too busy for ya. What’s up?”_

Osamu has to close his eyes, just for a second, before focusing on the road again. “On my way to Osaka,” he admits.

_“What d’ya mean? Don’t ya gotta work this weekend?”_

Osamu swallows to clear his sticky throat, and tries to distract Atsumu before he can latch on and dig in because- he still doesn’t think he can talk about it. He doesn’t want to _talk_ about it. “You sound way dumber than usual,” he says. “Did I wake you up or somethin’?”

_“Yeah, somethin’. Why’re you comin’ here?”_

Osamu squeezes the steering wheel and clenches his teeth tight. It would have been easier if Atsumu had taken the bait. They could have bickered and it would have been enough normalcy to help smother this- feeling.

_“‘Samu?”_

But Atsumu won’t let him and this is why he called him, anyway.

“I can’t do it anymore, ‘Tsumu.” He’s amazed that his voice is steady. He feels like he’s crumbling at the edges. “This shit with Rin. I can’t.”

A short pause, and when Atsumu speaks, his voice is too soft. _“What happened?”_

“Nothing. Not-” His voice lodges in his throat and he forces out a dull chuckle. His eyes are stinging, and it makes the road ahead of him blur into streams of white and yellow. “He had a hickey,” he admits, “When I called ‘im last night. An’ when I asked him about it-” He hadn’t asked him about it, he realizes. He’d just hung up. “-he said it was nothin’. Then today I see ‘im in some girl’s mentions on instagram and, fuck!”

He doesn’t mean to yell, and he’s fighting off the urge to laugh because it’s not _funny_ . None of this is funny, but just hearing himself talk about it emphasizes how stupid and insignificant this whole thing is. Just a hickey, just a fucking _social media post_ . It’s _nothing_ and Osamu feels absolutely unhinged.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and rubs his palm roughly across his eyes. “This is dumb as shit. I’m not doin’ this. I’m not. I’m not doin’ it anymore, ‘Tsumu-”

_“Yer comin’ here, right? Are ya on a train?”_

Osamu focuses on his voice. Atsumu sounds completely calm and it eases the storm in his chest, just a little. “Nah. Stole ma’s car. She doesn’t have work tomorrow, she won’t care.” She absolutely would care. Osamu’s already prepared for a lecture when he returns home, but he can’t worry about that right now.

_“How far are ya?”_

“‘Bout half an hour.”

_“Okay. Just come straight over, alright? I’ll call us in some food. We can talk about it.”_

Osamu tastes acid and shifts his hands awkwardly against the steering wheel, searching for something to hold on to. “I don’t wanna talk about it, ‘Tsumu,” he mumbles at last. “I don’t even wanna think about it.”

Atsumu doesn’t miss a beat. _“Alright then, I got liquor.”_

Osamu surprises himself by laughing, genuine and short and a little too watery as a fresh wave of tears assaults him. He brushes them away as quickly as he can. “Alright. See ya in a bit, then.”

 _“See ya. Drive safe.”_

Osamu smiles to himself and wipes his sleeve under his nose, since there’s no one there to chastise him for it. “Yer not our ma.”

_“Yeah, yeah. Love ya.”_

“Love ya,” Osamu says, and means it.

He rolls down the window for the last stretch of the drive and lets the wind batter his face and dry his eyes.

\---

_“‘Samu! It’s yer fuckin’ turn to do the-”_

_Osamu’s head snaps up so fast he feels something catch in his neck. The room goes immediately still around him, like time itself is holding its breath. Atsumu is standing in the doorway, t-shirt sticking to his sweaty chest, soaked hair standing up in fifteen directions. He has a bottle of water in one hand and the door knob in the other. His face is frozen somewhere between fury (because he’s right, it is Osamu’s turn) and disbelief. His mouth is hanging open._

_Suna is sitting on the edge of Atsumu’s mattress, with his shorts around his ankles and his t-shirt bunched beneath his armpits. There are fresh bruises forming across his chest and belly. His dick is out, flushed and hard and shiny with Osamu’s spit. His eyes are wide and locked on Atsumu, one hand buried in Atsumu’s sheets and the other in Osamu’s hair._

_Osamu sits shirtless between Suna’s spread knees, both hands splayed across his lap. The only reason his mouth isn’t full of cock is because the sound of Atsumu slamming the door open had forced him to whip back, nails leaving gashes in the delicate skin of Suna’s thighs._

_Time exhales and Atsumu screams. The water bottle hits the floor, capless, and water explodes across the rug. Atsumu slaps a hand over his eyes, still screaming, and Osamu scrambles to grab at the blankets, yanking them over Suna’s lap to give him some modicum of decency, and then he’s yelling too._

_“The fuck are ya doin’, ‘Samu! What the fuck, what the fuck, that’s my bed! Get on yer own fuckin’ bed!”_

_“Get the fuck outta here! Don’t ya ever fuckin’ knock!”_

_“It’s my room! That’s my bed!”_

_“Yer supposed to be on a run! Get the fuck out!”_

_“That’s Sunarin! That’s my bed!”_

_“Get out, Atsumu!”_

_“You were suckin-”_

_“Get out!”_

_“-Sunarin’s cock-”_

_Osamu leaps to his feet and towards the door. Atsumu catches the opposite side, struggling to keep it open while Osamu tries to shove him out._

_“I’m gonna kill ya-”_

_“You were suckin-”_

_“-with my bare hands-”_

_“-Sunarin’s cock-”_

_“-on ma’s life, I’ll-”_

_“-on my bed!”_

_“-kill you!”_

_Osamu rams his shoulder forward and Atsumu yelps. He stumbles out of the way and the door finally slams shut._

_“Stop fuckin’ on my bed and do the dishes!” Atsumu shouts, before stomping off. The front door slams a few moments later._

_Osamu drops his forehead against the door and turns his head to press a flushed cheek against the cool surface. “Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Sunarin, he said he wouldn’t be back ‘til dinner-”_

_“He must have known you were eating without him,” Suna says solemnly._

_For the second time in five minutes, Osamu turns his head sharply enough to crack his neck, eyes widening. “Suna!”_

_Suna grins, reclining on his elbows. He still has a blanket haphazardly draped over his lap, but has not seen fit to cover himself any further. “What? You did have your mouth full.”_

_Osamu snorts and crosses the small room to get back to him, shoving him down on the mattress. “I’ll show him fuckin’ on his bed, alright.”_

_“That’s the spirit.”_

_\---_

Osamu parks, car miraculously unscathed, thirty-two minutes later. Atsumu is waiting on the curb with his hands shoved in his pockets, and Osamu will never admit that the sight of him is enough to inspire a fresh bout of tears. He doesn’t get two steps from the car before Atsumu is on him, dragging him into an aggressive hug. But he feels the relieved way Atsumu’s shoulders slump around him as soon as they’re crushed together and the hand on the nape of his neck is gentle.

“Knock it off,” Osamu mutters. He contradicts himself by squeezing Atsumu closer, arms locked around his waist. He presses his face into his brother’s shoulder and takes a shaky breath.

“What, I can’t miss my little brother? C’mere, baby~” Atsumu hums obnoxiously against his ear, rubbing his back too-rough.

Osamu swallows back a pathetic hiccup and digs his fingers into Atsumu’s ribs. “Yer six minutes older than me, ‘Tsumu, and ya act six years younger-”

Atsumu ignores him entirely and sways back and forth, simpering on about his _cute baby brother_ while Osamu catches his breath. He has to shove Atsumu off when he’s collected himself, scrubbing the sleeve of his sweater across his eyes inconspicuously, even though he’s well aware Atsumu already knows he’s crying.

He lets Atsumu corral him inside, slumping against him as they walk. Atsumu’s prattling on about the food he ordered them and for once, Osamu couldn’t care less about what’s for dinner. Even when it arrives, he doesn’t want it. He shovels it down his throat anyway, doing his best to smother the void permanently ripped open inside of him.

He feels a little better, after. He doesn’t know if he should thank his overly full stomach, the booze, or the way Atsumu’s ankle is crossed with his beneath the kotatsu for it. But either way, he finds his mouth opening without his permission.

“He’s always-” He cuts himself off. He might be broken, because he feels tears swell in his eyes again. He can’t remember ever crying so much.

He’s expecting Atsumu to push, because Atsumu always pushes. But he doesn’t this time. Osamu can tell he’s listening. He can feel his intent gaze, the same hyperfocus he displays on the court, all directed at Osamu. It makes the tears a little harder to contain, and he has to try several times before he can force out his words.

“I don’t think he loves me like I love him, ‘Tsumu.” And that’s the crux of it. Because he loves Rin, and Rin doesn’t love him. It’s not about the cheating (because it wasn’t cheating, because Rin isn’t his). It’s about Osamu being hopelessly in love and selfish on top of it.

“He cheated on ya,” Atsumu murmurs, echoing the accusation Osamu has already dismissed. “I reckon he might not deserve ya lovin’ him.”

It hurts. Even when he’s so angry at Rin, he has to force himself not to argue. Even now he believes Rin deserves the world.

“We’re not even together.” Osamu huffs a laugh and forces himself to grin. He feels it when a tear sneaks out and grits his teeth harder. “Ya can’t cheat on someone ya won’t commit to.”

“Bullshit. He treats ya like yer his boyfriend and expects ya to be there-”

“Ya don’t understand, ‘Tsumu.” He’s already lost the fight, so he presses his hands to his eyes to try to stem the flow. He tries to breathe and the breath he releases feels like daggers on his raw throat. “The more I reach out, the further he gets an’ I can’t do it. I feel like my heart isn’t mine anymore. I’m always waitin’ on ‘im, and understandin’ of whatever- bullshit’s goin’ on, an-”

“That’s not yer fault.” Atsumu’s feet disappear, but his hands take their place, tugging at Osamu. Osamu turns without a fight, burying his face in Atsumu’s stomach with a muffled sob. He curls his legs up and tangles his fingers into Atsumu’s t-shirt. He’s greedy for it, for any trace of affection. Atsumu’s fingers comb through his hair and he feels it resonate through his whole body. He lets go of the tension he didn’t realize he was holding onto and curls closer, digging his teeth into his lip to stay quiet.

“He’s a bastard. Yer so good, ‘Samu.” Atsumu’s voice is too gentle again. Osamu hates himself, hates that he had to come crawling to Atsumu for comfort, hates that he’s made Atsumu feel like he needs to handle him with kid gloves. He doesn’t deserve it.

He’s grateful.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“I won’t,” Atsumu says primly. He’s still stroking Osamu’s hair, gentle and steady. “It’s like ma used to tell us, yeah? We used to be one person, ya know.”

Osamu closes his eyes and thinks of the myth their mother used to whisper to them, about how twins used to be just one person. How one body could no longer hold so much greatness, so the gods had seen fit to divide it into two, but keep them close, because neither could succeed without their complementary piece. Atsumu had loved that story. Osamu had always found it a bit silly. 

But now he wonders. 

Atsumu touches his cheek delicately, brushing away a tear. “And you got all the good,” he murmurs. “You got too much good, and ya don’t deserve someone that’s got so much bad. Me and Suna are too similar. Ya need someone sweet.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, it’s with a little more of his typical bravado. “I didn’t say any of this tomorrow morning, remember that.”

Osamu surprises himself with yet another laugh, pressing his forehead into Atsumu’s stomach roughly. “An’ I didn’t cry either.”

“Oh, yer cryin’? Nasty.” Osamu chokes out another laugh, one that feels suspiciously like a sob. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I got ya.”

Osamu knows. He knows Atsumu’s got him.

It’s not until later, when they’re both too drunk to walk straight, when they strip off their clothes in a graceless tangle of limbs and collapse into bed, that Osamu thinks about it. Atsumu wraps his arms around him like when they were small, and takes up too much room with his legs, and breathes on Osamu’s neck enough to make him feel a little sweaty and crowded.

He thinks about how Atsumu is wrong. Atsumu is the good one, and Rin is too. Osamu is the one filled to the brim with hate and anger and greed. He’s the one with a black hole in his stomach. All he does is take. He hoards every ounce of Rin’s attention. He demands Atsumu’s care. He abuses his mother’s trust.

He weeps into Atsumu’s pillow until he falls asleep, and even that is greedy, because he is not repentant. He’s angry.

\---

_His legs burn as he trudges onto the bus. Everything hurts. His whole body is sore. He’s replaying the match in his head, searching for moments where he should have pushed a little more. There are plenty._

_Atsumu has already taken the seat next to Aran, murmuring to him with a focused intensity. So he’s still thinking about the game, too. Not surprising. Osamu slinks past them and collapses into an empty row, dropping his bag at his feet. He braces his elbow on the arm rest and turns his head to stare out at the parking lot. Maybe he had been slacking off, when Atsumu called him out. He hadn’t meant to, but Atsumu is frustratingly perceptive about every minute thing on the court, so probably-_

_The seat sinks and he turns his head to see Suna slumped beside him. His mouth is pressed into a firm line, eyes focused on the back of the next seat. Osamu opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again and looks back out the window. There’s not much to say that hasn’t already been said. Even Kita thought they’d done their best, at the end._

_He jumps, just a little, when a hand wraps around his. He watches as Suna guides their hands down to hide them in the space between their thighs. Suna’s fingers are longer than his. They look nice together, Osamu thinks, and smiles faintly when Suna’s thumb slowly brushes against his skin._

_“It was close,” Suna mumbles._

_Osamu leans his head back and tilts it towards him. Suna is already mimicking his posture, eyes focused and calm. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I just thought we’d be playin’ longer.”_

_“Yeah.” Suna doesn’t look away, even when the bus lurches into motion. They stay just like that, watching each other, for the whole trip back to the hotel. When Suna releases his hand to shuffle off the bus, Osamu doesn’t want to let go. He thinks maybe Suna didn’t want to let go either._

_\--_

“Maybe I shoulda stayed at the apartment, ‘Tsumu.”

“You kiddin’?” Atsumu snorts, rocking back on his heels. “Like I’d let ya miss a good meal.”

“Whatever.”

He can feel Atsumu’s concerned glance and ignores it. They’re waiting outside of a small bistro in a part of Osaka that Osamu has never visited. He feels woefully underdressed next to his brother, in borrowed jeans and a hoodie that hangs nearly two sizes too large from Atsumu’s pajama drawer. He hadn’t wanted to come at all, so if he looks a bit scruffy and homeless compared to Atsumu, then that’s Atsumu’s fault for dragging him out. More than food, he desperately wants a cigarette. But Atsumu doesn’t know about that particular habit and Osamu would like to keep it that way.

Atsumu opens his mouth to say something, but before he has the chance, Bokuto comes barreling around the corner, arms open and a grin stretched across his face. Even with his signature hair contained by a dark beanie, he’s impossible to mistake and Osamu has less than five seconds to steel himself before he’s being lifted off his feet in an enthusiastic hug.

“Myaa-sam!” Bokuto yells, arms crushed around Osamu’s middle.

Osamu wheezes out a laugh and claps Bokuto on the back. “Hey.”

Bokuto drops him unceremoniously back onto his feet and turns his enthusiasm on Atsumu, ( _“Tsum-Tsum!”)_ who meets him in a hilariously out-of-place chest bump.

“Hey, hey, hey! Me and Akaashi came by with some dessert for you last night!” Bokuto is still beaming when he steps back, hands falling to his hips. “But I guess you weren’t home?”

Atsumu snorts and Osamu tips his head curiously at the light blush on his brother’s cheeks. “Ah, musta been when I ran to the store, Bokkun. What did ya bring me?”

“Just some taiyaki, but ‘Kaashi ate it when we couldn’t find you.”

“Hello, Atsumu-san. Osamu-san.”

Osamu and Atsumu jump simultaneously. While Bokuto had been distracting them, Akaashi had joined their circle unnoticed. He lifts a hand in greeting, just the tips of his fingers poking through the overly-long sleeves of his cream cardigan.

“ _Damn_ , Akaashi. We should put a bell on ya or somethin’.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose and fusses with his bangs self consciously. Osamu rolls his eyes.

“Aah, that would be cute,” Bokuto muses, tipping his head to look down at Akaashi.

“No.” Akaashi presses a hand between Bokuto’s shoulder blades, nudging him towards the restaurant. “Let’s not be late. We have a reservation.”

They’re seated by one of the windows, at a table with a white cloth and a single, fresh daisy in the center. They serve French food, apparently, and Osamu spends the first five minutes trying to fit his lips around the foreign words. When their waiter comes, Akaashi is the only one who successfully orders, while the rest of them are forced to point at their entrees sheepishly.

Bokuto and Atsumu fall into easy conversation. Usually, Osamu would butt in to tease Atsumu (and Atsumu leaves plenty of openings for it today, likely on purpose) but instead, he sits back and quietly observes his lunch partners.

Since Atsumu joined the team, Osamu has spent far more time with Bokuto than he’d ever expected to. He remembers Bokuto from high school, overly enthusiastic and prone to meltdowns midplay. The Bokuto he’s gotten to know post-graduation is different. It’s like he’s settled into himself, without somehow losing the enigmatic spark that makes him inexplicably charming. And today he seems more settled than usual, even as he leans forward in his chair, rapidly chattering with Atsumu about something Osamu has long stopped caring about.

It probably has something to do with Akaashi, whose hand he is holding shamelessly on the table. Their hands look nice together, Osamu thinks. Bokuto’s is broad, his fingers square with the tell-tale callouses Osamu remembers from his own hands when he still played regularly. In contrast, Akaashi’s fingers are pale and long, with just the suggestion of a callous on his ring finger, where a pen must regularly press. Akaashi’s thumb is sweeping back and forth against the side of Bokuto’s index finger, moving like muscle-memory, like a habit he’s always had.

Osamu peeks up at Akaashi. He’s always liked looking at Akaashi, really. He’s pretty in the same way as Rin, with his sharp angles and messy hair. He’s missing the mischief, though. His expression is almost always calm. Even when he’s irritated, it’s only visible in a slight pout and a thoughtful furrow of his brow. Osamu can’t imagine his eyes going sly and narrow, or his mouth tipping in a smirk.

Fuck. He misses Rin.

He looks at Akaashi, and thinks of Rin, and doesn’t notice that Akaashi has caught him staring until their eyes meet. He looks away quickly and rubs a sheepish hand against the back of his neck, lifting his phone with the other just to have something to do.

“Osamu-san,” Akaashi says, and Osamu doesn’t really have a choice back to look back up, sure that his cheeks are flushed.

“Ah- yeah, Akaashi-kun?”

“I have a favor to ask.” Akaashi shifts and puts his napkin across his lap when their food is delivered. As soon as their waiter steps away, he continues. “I don’t want to impose, but if you’re going to be in town long enough, would it be possible for you to make me some of your onigiri?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto tips to the side far enough to knock shoulders with Akaashi, his megawatt smile directed at Osamu. “‘Kaashi’s been talking about your onigiri since that last time you both visited. Remember, you made them for us?”

“Right.” Osamu picks up his silverware and squints down at his meal. It smells good, it looks good, and Osamu wishes he was hungry. He’s never _not_ had an appetite. “I dunno, Akaashi-kun.”

“Please?”

Osamu looks up and Akaashi’s eyes are still unwaveringly set on him. He hasn’t moved to touch his food, which is a miracle. Of all the things he’s learned about Akaashi, the most surprising is his zeal for food. How he fits so much in his narrow body, Osamu’s not sure. 

“I’m not sure how long I’m stayin’,” he says slowly. “I think I’ve gotta go back in the mornin’.”

“I’ll happily pay for the ingredients.” Akaashi tips his head a fraction. “And for your time, if you’d like.”

Osamu freezes. He stares across the table at Akaashi, looking for any sign of a trick. But Akaashi is as apathetic as always, his gaze serious and intent. It’s a real offer.

Osamu feels a spark of joy in his chest for the first time in weeks. “I…” He shifts in his seat, working to contain his enthusiasm. Akaashi is sort of a weird dude. This could still be a joke, and Osamu doesn’t want to be the punchline. “Nobody’s ever paid for my food.”

“Consider me your first customer,” Akaashi says firmly.

Osamu glances at Atsumu, who has an elbow braced on the table because he has no manners, and a fond smile on his face. Osamu glowers at him. Of course Atsumu already knows what a big deal this is for him. Asshole.

“What?” Atsumu asks, like he can read Osamu’s mind. “Ya heard him. He wants to pay for yer food.” He gestures loosely towards Akaashi. “Charge him. _Overcharge_ him.”

Osamu rolls his eyes and looks back at Akaashi. “I can make ya some tonight. Ya don’t need to pay me.”

“We’ll see.” Akaashi shrugs one shoulder and picks up his silverware.

Bokuto and Atsumu pick up their conversation where they left off and Osamu zones out once again. He eats mechanically, ignoring the flavor on his tongue to consider what he would need to pick up on the way back to the apartment. If he remembers correctly, Akaashi is partial to nanohana. It’s almost April, so whatever rapeseed shoots he’s able to find may be out of season, but adjusting the sauce could compensate for the bitterness easily. He could still make it work. He could make a few staples, too. Some with umeboshi for a light breakfast or minced tuna and spicy mayo for lunch. He might as well see if he can find reasonably priced fresh tuna and make something for Atsumu as well, to say thank you. And if he’s making something with both of them in mind, he ought to make something for Bokuto. Bokuto isn’t so picky, but he always wants to go out for yakiniku, so maybe a filling inspired by that-

He’s shaken out of the thought when a small chocolate souffle is placed in front of him. He looks away from the tablecloth for the first time since he’d finished his food, shooting Atsumu a narrow look.

“You didn’t say ya _didn’t_ want dessert.” Atsumu points his spoon at him, and then leans over to scoop himself a bite right off of Osamu’s plate.

Osamu smacks his hand away instinctively. “Oi! Order yer own, if ya want it.” He puts a hand defensively over his dessert.

Atsumu sticks out his lip, spoon hovering in the air between them. “But I _can’t_.”

“We’re on a new diet,” Bokuto says solemnly. A quick glance across the table reveals Bokuto watching Akaashi, who is eating a large slice of lemon tart unsympathetically. “We only get one cheat day a week.”

“And Bokuto-san used his yesterday,” Akaashi says. He licks his spoon and the corners of his eyes crinkle in quiet amusement when Bokuto’s face falls. “So he doesn’t mind that I’m having dessert when he can’t.”

“ _Keiji_ ,” Bokuto whines. Akaashi scoops up another bite and pops it into his mouth, eyes crinkling further at Bokuto’s dramatic whimper.

Atsumu’s spoon almost makes it across the table before Osamu slaps it away again. “Nah, scrub. Ya definitely cheated last night.”

“Ya didn’t even want it!” Atsumu drops his spoon on the table with a clatter and slumps back in his seat. Osamu arches a brow and takes a pointed bite. It tastes better just knowing that Atsumu can’t have it.

\---

_They’ve been sleeping with each other for over a year when Osamu gets the guts to ask Suna to fuck him._

_“I like fuckin’ ya and all, Sunarin, but-” Osamu shoves his bangs out of his face, avoiding Suna’s eyes. “-but, I just think I’d like it if ya fucked me too, is all.”_

_Suna is silent, and when Osamu finally looks at him, his eyes are wide and his mouth is open in surprise. Osamu feels itchy with embarrassment and shifts his feet against the carpet. They’re sitting on the floor in Suna’s bedroom, their homework spread in the space between them._

_“We- we were working on our English vocabulary,” Suna blurts. He sounds as flustered as Osamu feels, and Osamu feels like jumping from the window of Suna’s apartment would be easier than finishing this conversation._

_“Yeah, I just- it’s somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about, but-” Osamu reaches for his book, flipping the pages blindly. “Where were we? Sorry, I didn’t mean-”_

_Suna interrupts him, catching his chin and cheeks in the pinch of one hand to lift his head. His eyes are still wide, and he looks very alert for a Tuesday afternoon. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks, and Osamu feels dizzy._

_“Yeah. I’ve just-” He makes a face at the way Suna is squishing his cheeks, and Suna’s hand slides back to curl in his hair instead. “I’ve just been thinkin’ about it. Do you think you’d wanna-?”_

_“‘Samu,” Suna says, and he sounds a bit frantic. Osamu can’t decide if this is the best or the worst moment of his life. “I would be honored.”_

_“Don’t fuck around,” he whines._

_“I’m going to fuck you around,” Suna mumbles nonsensically and leans in to kiss him. Osamu doesn’t argue anymore._

_The arguing happens in the long weeks afterwards, when Suna patently refuses to fuck Osamu after he finds that out Osamu has never so much as fingered himself. Instead, every moment they manage to steal alone is a simultaneously delightful and frustrating experiment in Suna fingering him until he can’t remember his own name._

_By the eighth time, he’s practically sobbing for it, and he doesn’t have it in him to feel the slightest bit of shame. They’re in Suna’s apartment again and his parents are still at work. Suna has him on his knees, legs spread open, his face pushed into the pillow. He’s already three fingers deep, flexing and curling them until there’s a constant feedback loop of pleasure forcing coherency out of Osamu’s mind._

_Suna is draped across his back, the bare skin of his chest almost uncomfortably warm against Osamu’s overheated body. He presses closer with every breath, and the way he pushes Osamu into the mattress grinds his dick against the sheets. He’s usually quiet during sex, beyond playful encouragement and a handful of low moans._

_This makes him mouthy. This makes him moan and whine and ramble and rub his cheek against the pillow._

_“Suna,” he moans, and the syllables feel sloppy on his tongue. “Suna, please- ‘m ready, I really promise, ‘m ready. I c’n do it now, ya can f-fuck me now, please-”_

_“Yeah?” Suna’s mouth is pressed against his ear, and Osamu ruts into the mattress at the sound of his voice. He can hear Suna’s fingers sliding in and out of him, wet and messy, and it doesn’t feel like enough. He thinks of Suna’s cock, about how it fills his mouth, and about how that’s what he needs inside of him. He fucking needs it._

_“Please,” he repeats, and it sort of feels like the only word he knows. “Please, Suna, please-”_

_Suna groans against his ear. Osamu can feel how hard he is, can feel his length dragging against his lower back, but he doesn’t stop moving his fingers. Osamu makes a noise that feels broken, and reaches a clumsy hand back to grab at him. He wants more._

_Suna catches his hand, lacing their fingers together before pressing them to the mattress above Osamu’s head. Osamu whimpers at the stretch, at the feeling of being totally held down. “Suna-”_

_“Rin,” Suna murmurs. “Osamu, call me Rin.”_

_“R-Rin. Rin-” Osamu shivers beneath him, and he feels his field of vision narrowing, the edge approaching too fast. “Oh, fuh- Fuck, Rin- gonna come, I-”_

_Suna twists his fingers brutally deep and presses closer to his back, forcing him to grind into the bed. Osamu comes with a shout, fingers clenching around Suna’s. Around Rin’s._

_\---_

Osamu had forgotten that cooking could be cleansing.

It’s in the touch of each grain of rice as he rinses it over Atsumu’s sink. The grains stick to his skin each time he strains the water away. It’s in the sensation of Atsumu’s knife, freshly sharpened, sliding through meat. Fresh, fatty tuna and marbled beef, thinly sliced. It’s in the clean scent of nanohana shoots, neatly trimmed. It’s in the hunt for the right harmony of flavors in each sauce, to balance the overly rich tuna, the heavy beef, the delicate, bitter greens. It’s in the soothing heat of fresh rice, transformed into something beautiful between his hands.

He closes the containers packed full of onigiri for Akaashi, Bokuto, and Atsumu and feels more like himself than he has in months. He traces a finger along the edge of one of the boxes and catches himself smiling. He thinks about what he would make for his mother, for Kita, for Aran. For Rin.

“I’m gonna drop these at Bokuto’s apartment,” he says. He picks up the boxes and looks back at Atsumu, who has been perched on the counter the whole time. He’s frowning at his phone, and the frown lingers for a moment when he looks up before transforming into a lazy smile.

“Make sure ya charge him double.”

“I’m not _chargin’_ him.”

“Yer a terrible businessman. I’m pullin’ my investment.”

“Fuck off.” Osamu leaves him in the kitchen and steals his ugly sandals from the genkan. Bokuto’s apartment is right down the hall, so less than a minute later, he knocks.

Akaashi answers the door. He has on glasses that frame his features handsomely, and too-long plaid pajama pants. He’s still wearing his oatmeal cardigan, but it’s folded closed over his bare chest.

“Myaa-sam,” Akaashi says, with a touch of humor.

“Ah, fuck,” Osamu says. “Yer visitin’ yer boyfriend, so- I should have texted Bokkun first. I’m sorry if I’m botherin’ ya-”

“Are those my onigiri?” Akaashi extends his hands, dismissing Osamu’s apology wordlessly.

“Uh, yeah.” Osamu passes the boxes over and Akaashi cradles them carefully, like they’re something precious. “I labeled them. There’s some for Bokkun, too.”

“That was thoughtful. Let me put these away and grab my wallet.”

“Akaashi-kun, ya don’t gotta-” Osamu’s mouth clicks shut at the sharp look Akaashi gives him across the threshold.

“Don’t devalue yourself and your talents, Osamu-san.” He turns away and disappears into the apartment. Osamu waits at the door, peeking inside curiously. It’s a carbon copy of Atsumu’s, but in reverse, with less hand-me-down furniture and more decorative touches that feel distinctly _Bokuto._ He spots a small owl painting on the hallway wall, next to a shadow box with Bokuto’s high school jersey pinned inside.

Akaashi comes back with his wallet in hand. He stops in front of Osamu again and flicks through a stack of bills. “How does 4500 sound?”

Osamu nearly swallows his own tongue, eyes widening. “Like way too much-”

Akaashi looks up through his lashes, fingers pausing. “I would spend more than that on lunches for the next week, if I didn’t have these to eat. Let’s make it 5000.”

“ _Akaashi-_ ” Akaashi passes him a stack of neatly folded bills, and Osamu has no choice but to take them or let them fall to the floor. “I- thank ya.”

“You’re welcome.” Akaashi nudges his glasses back up his nose. “Can I ask for something else, Osamu-san?”

“I think ya can really just call me Osamu now, since ya’ve paid me-”

“I would like your phone number.”

Osamu’s brain freezes. He knows his mouth is hanging open, and he looks furtively over Akaashi’s shoulder. “Uh-”

When he looks back at Akaashi, he’s smiling, just a little. “Please don’t misunderstand me.”

Osamu shakes his head quickly. “Uh- sorry.” Of course Akaashi isn’t _asking for his number_ , asking for his number. He just can’t remember the last time _he_ was the one being pursued, platonically or not.

“I would like to think we’re friends, Osamu.” Akaashi’s lips purse, like it’s difficult for him not to add the honorific. His hands shift awkwardly, tugging once at his fingers, before curling them around his sleeves instead. “And I don’t want to be rude, but you seemed- sad. Today. And I wanted you to know that I consider you a friend, and that if you need someone to talk to who’s less-” His eyes tilt briefly to the side, towards Atsumu’s apartment. Osamu barks out a surprised laugh. “You can talk to me, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to burden ya,” Osamu says. But he also likes the thought of it, having Akaashi as a friend. Osamu’s been feeling a little short on those, lately, and Akaashi really is a weird dude. Weird dudes give good advice.

“Friendship is as much a burden as you make it,” Akaashi says vaguely, immediately proving Osamu’s _weird guy_ thesis correct.

“Well, shit. Alright.” Osamu smiles at him, and recites his number for Akaashi to enter into his phone.

\---

_It’s the night after their final interhigh when Osamu rolls over in Rin’s bed, body sluggish and heavy, and says, “Hey, Rin?”_

_Rin peels one eye open, his head nuzzled into his pillow. He’d invited Osamu to spend the night when they returned that evening, and they’d spent the hours between then and now slumped against each other on the couch, too tired to commit to anything beyond a few lazy kisses. They’d only climbed into bed twenty minutes before and Osamu can already feel sleep tugging at him. But he’s gotta say this now._

_“Mm?”_

_“Can I tell ya something?”_

_Rin pries his other eye open and shifts so that he’s looking at him properly. “Yeah?”_

_Osamu swallows and looks down. He skims his hand hesitantly over Rin’s hip, brushing his thumb along the fraying elastic of his waistband. “Yer the first person I’ve told. So if ya think it’s a stupid idea, ya gotta tell me.”_

_“Spit it out, ‘Samu.”_

_He looks back up. Rin is watching him, a small, concerned furrow between his brows. Osamu fights the urge to smooth it out with his fingers, because that might be a step too tender for whatever they are. They still haven’t talked about it._

_“I think I might wanna open a restaurant. Like, be a cook. A chef. Whatever.” He forces an awkward smile. “Is that stupid?”_

_Rin’s brow smooths on it’s own, and his lips part in a smile that strikes Osamu as particularly sweet. He’s got his retainer in, so it looks sort of goofy, too, but Osamu still thinks he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “No. Not stupid.”_

_“Ya think?” He scoots a fraction closer and one of Rin’s long arms drapes around him, a hand pressing against his spine._

_“You look happier when you cook,” Rin murmurs. He shifts a little closer too. “You used to look happy like that when we played, too. But you haven’t lately.”_

_Osamu feels his stomach drop and pinches his lip between his teeth. “You could tell?”_

_“Duh.” Rin’s thumb is tracing the dip of his shoulder blade, slow and comforting. “You’re my best friend.”_

_Osamu stares at him, and can just barely make out his flush in the dark. He can’t make his mouth move, even though his heart is racing in his chest._

_“Don’t look at me like that.”_

_“Yer my best friend too,” Osamu says in a rush. He slides his hand around Rin’s back, pulling him closer._

_Rin’s smiling again. Osamu doesn’t resist the urge to kiss him this time, slow and gentle. Rin’s hand moves to cup the nape of his neck and guide him in, a leg slotting between his. He stays close when their mouths part, forehead pressing against Osamu’s. “You’re still going to cook for me even when you’ve got the whole country begging for your food, right?”_

_Pride swells warm and comforting in his chest. “I’ll cook for ya every day.” Osamu kisses him again. “I’ll cook ya every meal.”_

_“Will you make me candy when I want that instead?”_

_“I’ll make ya anythin’, Rin.” He kisses him again and presses closer. Rin makes a soft noise into his mouth, his other arm sneaking between them to cling to his shoulder. “I’ll give ya anythin’ ya want.”_

_“I want you,” Rin mumbles. He brushes his tongue against Osamu’s lower lip, quick and kitten-soft._

_“Ya got me.” Osamu shifts and rolls over him, pressing into another kiss. He rolls their hips together and swallows another one of Rin’s gasps, savoring it on his tongue._

_“You’re gonna be so-” Rin stops to kiss him again, undulating beneath him. Osamu bites back a moan, burying his fingers in Rin’s hair. Rin breaks the kiss and turns his head just far enough to tug out his retainer, dropping it carelessly to the floor. He kisses him again, then says, “You’re gonna be so good, Osamu.”_

_“You make me good,” Osamu says, and doesn’t really care that it’s sappy and probably too much. Rin grips his waist, nails pressing into his skin._

_“You make me better,” Rin argues, and crashes their lips together again._

_\---_

The hole in his stomach returns the moment he steps foot back in Hyogo.

His mother doesn’t berate him for taking the car. Instead, she forces him down on the couch and snuggles up to his side, announcing, “I’m pissed at ya, but Tsu-Tsu called and told me what happened. Don’t do it again or I’ll take ya out.”

“Alright. Sorry, ma.” 

“Shh.” She scoops up the remote and plays the next episode. 

He has to return to work the next day and the pit grows. He prepares food on autopilot, waiting for his chance to escape through the backdoor for cigarettes that feel more like a compulsion than an indulgence. He checks his phone looking for messages he knows won’t be there. (There are messages from Atsumu, from his mother, even from Aran and Bokuto, but those aren’t what he wants. He can’t have what he wants.)

He has the day off on Wednesday, and he spends it sitting on the couch. His mother emerges from her room looking sleepy and rumpled sometime around noon, and stands over him as ominously as someone of her stature can. He politely ignores her, until she places herself between him and the television, hands on her hips.

“That’s enough,” she says firmly.

“Yer blockin’ the screen, ma,” he mumbles. He tries to lean to the side and she follows, extending her arms dramatically. And he wonders where Atsumu gets it.

“Ya need to get out of the house, ‘Samu.”

Osamu sighs and looks away from the television. “I get outta the house. It’s my day off-”

“And what’ve ya done with it?” She narrows her eyes. It’s the look she used to give them when they’d been avoiding homework or terrorizing each other. Osamu is almost too tired to fight off his instinctive urge to apologize. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten that look. “Why don’t ya go somewhere?” She plops beside him, apparently deciding she has sufficiently gotten his attention. “Go see Shin-chan!”

Osamu makes a face and slouches deeper into the cushions. “Don’t call Kita-san that, it’s weird-”

She snorts and waves a hand. “He’s not _my_ idol. I can call him what I like.”

“Yer gettin’ me confused with ‘Tsumu again.”

She rolls her eyes and he can’t help the small smile that steals across his face. “Like ya wouldn’t have had just as big a crush on ‘im if Rin-Rin hadn’t-”

She cuts herself off, but it’s too late. Osamu’s brief smile disappears and he feels a bit like he’s been doused in ice water. The void in his stomach is hungry.

She shifts closer to him and takes his hand apologetically. “Sorry, baby-”

“It’s alright.” He looks down at their hands and blinks away sudden tears. “No worries.”

They sit in silence for a long while. The show Osamu had been watching plays on, and when the episode is over, he slinks off to shower and pretends he can’t feel his mother’s concerned gaze on his back.

\---

_“I got signed,” Rin says, the moment they’re alone. Osamu had arrived at his apartment twenty minutes earlier and been caught up in awkward small talk with his parents until Rin had appeared from the shower and tugged him off to his bedroom._

_Osamu blinks, then feels a grin take over his face. He raises his hands and Rin lets out a little laugh, his own face split open in a smile that feels like the warmth of the summer sun. Rin slaps their hands together and instead of letting them fall, twines his fingers through Osamu’s and pushes him back against the door._

_“EJP?” Osamu asks, slumping back. He can’t look away from Rin, from the smile still wrinkling his eyes into happy slits._

_“Yeah.” He squeezes Osamu’s hands._

_“Then ya won’t have to put up with ‘Tsumu. That was the one team he really didn’t want.”_

_“Why do you think I chose it?” Rin says archly._

_“I knew you were smart.”_

_Rin’s smile softens and he shifts closer. His skin is still warm from the shower, and his hair hasn’t had the time to dry, leaving damp patches on his t-shirt’s collar. Osamu leans into him, pressing their bodies together in the hope that Rin will feel the pride radiating from his chest._

_“Thank you, ‘Samu,” he murmurs, tipping his head to press their foreheads together._

_“What for?” He closes his eyes and tips his chin forward, to get a bit closer._

_“For helping me research teams. For putting up with me and Atsumu while we lost our minds trying to prep. For calming me down. For being my best friend.” Rin emphasizes each point with a lingering kiss. “Thank you.”_

_“Don’t gotta thank me for any of that.” Osamu squeezes his hands and leans his head back to look at him properly. “I’d do anything to help ya, Rin. You or ‘Tsumu, just don’t tell ‘im that.”_

_Rin grins and finally releases his hands, only to tuck them beneath Osamu’s shirt tails. “I want to thank you though,” he whispers, and Osamu arches a brow at his tone. “I want to say thank you-” A kiss to his cheek. “-thank you-” A kiss to his jaw. “-thank you-” A kiss beneath his ear, that makes Osamu shiver. “-thank you-” A kiss just at the edge of his collar._

_“Yer parents are home,” Osamu points out, even though he’s got his head tipped all the way back to give Rin room._

_“Guess you’ll have to be quiet then,” Rin teases, and slides to his knees._

_\---_

It’s always just as the dinner rush is easing off that Osamu wants to quit his job the most. There are only a few tickets remaining, and everyone on the line (including him) is irritable, sweaty, and ready for their shift to end.

Osamu resents this kitchen. He resents the narrow path between the counters. He resents stirring the same sauces each night, prepping the same vegetables, passing the same boring food to be plated hour after hour. He resents the murky smell of the dishes that always rises above the scent of produce and spices. He resents his coworkers, who don’t care about what they’re doing at all. It’s just a job to them, at the end of the day. Osamu resents that sometime in the last year and a half, he’s become one of them.

His phone rings. He’s cleared his tickets for the time being, so he fishes it from his pocket. Atsumu’s name flashes back at him and it makes him hate this place even more that he sees a call from his brother mostly as an excuse for a cigarette. He heads towards the backdoor anyway, making eye contact with Hisashi at the next station over. He answers his phone while miming a smoking gesture.

“I’m at work, scrub,” he says. Hisashi waves him off and he mouths _thank you_ on his way out.

 _“Well shit,”_ Atsumu says. He sounds annoyed and Osamu rolls his eyes as he searches his pockets for a lighter. _“Call me after then.”_

“What do ya want?” He pushes into the alley and lights his cigarette before the door has fully closed behind him. The first drag burns and Osamu figures he should be concerned that the pack he bought yesterday is already almost empty. 

_“Where are ya?”_

Osamu rolls his eyes again and drops down, sitting on an abandoned milk crate against the wall. He stretches his legs, wincing at the ache. “Alley. What do ya want?”

Atsumu takes a long time to respond. Osamu considers hanging up, just to piss him off. But when he speaks, he says, “Suna called me,” and Osamu freezes, sucking in a sharp breath. He can’t force the air back out, can’t make himself speak. He can’t decide if he’s angry (because what the fuck does Rin think he’s doing, using Atsumu to reach him?) or scared (why is Rin trying to reach him?) or desperate (what did he say? what did he say? _what did he say?)._

Atsumu speaks before he can decide which question to ask. _“He wants to talk to ya, ‘Samu.”_

“Tough shit,” Osamu says immediately, and winces when his voice shakes.

 _“I talked to ‘im and I think ya should call him,”_ Atsumu says. Osamu opens his mouth to try and say something else, anything else, to keep up the facade that he doesn’t care, that his grief has given way to anger. Atsumu raises his voice and continues before Osamu can even form a syllable. _“He wants to talk it out with ya. I swear, I think he was cryin’.”_

All the anger he was trying to force up evaporates in an instant. He feels his face crumple and he’s grateful he’s alone.

He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Rin cry. The first had been at a practice when they were first years, when Rin had landed wrong after a block and his foot had given out beneath him. It had just been a few, shocked tears, his hands hovering over his swelling ankle. Osamu had crouched beside him and hesitantly put a hand on his new friend’s shoulder while the coach had inspected it and diagnosed it as a simple sprain.

The second had been a quiet summer afternoon, during one of their rare breaks from school and volleyball. They had been in the middle of a movie when Rin received a call from his mother to let him know that his sister’s appendix had burst, and that they needed to return to Tokyo right away to be with her in the hospital. Rin hadn’t cried until he’d had to say it out loud. Osamu remembers the way he’d tried to contain his tears, his teeth viciously sinking into his lip to hold back a whimper. Osamu’s mother had driven him straight home and Osamu had held his hand in the backseat.

The last had been at their final trip to nationals. He hadn’t cried after the game like the rest of them, but Osamu had caught him brushing away tears on the bus ride home. When he’d asked, Rin had given him a sheepish smile and said, “I’m going to miss playing with you.”

The thought of Rin crying over _him_ \- to _Atsumu_ , of all people, is enough to make his own eyes sting. He realizes, again, how selfish he is. How unbelievably self-absorbed and _useless_ he is, because he’d been so deep in his own pain that he hadn’t stopped to even consider how badly Rin might be hurting too. Because before anything else, Rin is Osamu’s best friend, and Osamu is his. And he’d cut him off without giving him a chance to explain himself.

“He was cryin’?” Osamu asks, and doesn’t bother to hide how vulnerable he sounds.

 _“I said I think he was,”_ Atsumu says, and Osamu figures the hint of irritation in his tone is probably warranted. He’s sure he’s done something to deserve it. _“Call him, ‘Samu.”_

“I don’t want to talk to him,” he says, because he doesn't. He's scared to.

_“Bullshit. I know ya miss him, ma told me you’ve been mopin’ since ya got home.”_

Osamu rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his almost forgotten cigarette. “You two’ve got to stop gossipin’ about me-”

 _“We’re concerned about ya, idiot,”_ Atsumu snaps and Osamu figures he definitely deserves that one. Atsumu’s voice is a little kinder when he continues. _“And ya know I wouldn’t even be tellin’ ya this if I didn’t think it was worth it for ya to try.”_

Osamu drags his foot slowly through the gravel of the alley, swallowing down his nerves. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can deal with bad news.” Because it could only be bad news, really. It’s not like Rin was going to suddenly change his mind about their _no strings attached_ policy even though Osamu personally feels like a marionette.

 _“He’s been tryin’ to get in touch with ya since Monday,”_ Atsumu says pointedly. Osamu wishes he didn’t know the flavor of guilt so intimately.

“What if-”

 _“Christ, ‘Samu,”_ Atsumu groans and Osamu feels the familiar urge to smack him. _“Don’t call him if ya don’t want to. But we both know ya want to. Call me after, if ya need me."_ There’s a pause. _“Actually, call me anyway,”_ he corrects, because he is a horrible gossip.

“Fuck you,” Osamu says heatlessly.

 _“Love you too,”_ Atsumu croons, and then he hangs up. Like an asshole.

\---

_Today, Atsumu left for Osaka. Tomorrow, Suna leaves for Nagoya. Osamu is so happy for them._

_He’s also terrified. He’s worried about Atsumu, who has never been away from him for more than two weeks. Atsumu, who is terrible at making friends, but who desperately needs people. Atsumu, who would likely explode if not given an outlet for his overflowing love and energy. He’s worried that Osaka will be too hard on him, but he’s also confident that Atsumu will make it work. Atsumu has never stumbled in his sprint towards his dream._

_He’s not worried about Rin, at least not in the same way. Rin makes friends easily, when he wants to. He’s used to moving around. He’s comfortable being alone. He’ll be fine in a new place with new people. When it comes to Rin, Osamu is just worried that Rin will forget him._

_It doesn’t feel like that will happen, not right now, with his cheek pressed over Rin’s heart and Rin’s fingers dragging through his hair. But starting tomorrow, there will be no way to touch him. No more easy afternoons in the grass after a long practice. No more konbini ice cream on the way home. No more hooked pinkies when there’s no one around to see them. No more sleepovers._

_“Hey, ‘Samu?”_

_“Mm?” Osamu turns his head, resting his chin against Rin’s sternum to look up at him._

_“I’ve been thinking.” Rin’s hand stills against his cheek and Osamu tips his head into the touch. “I know we’ve been…” He trails off and Osamu’s heart thuds painfully. He’d been afraid of this too._

_“Spit it out, Rin.”_

_Rin laughs, short and false. “I know we’ve been fooling around for a while. But I think it’s going to be harder on us now, you know?”_

_Fooling around feels like a bit of an understatement, but Osamu doesn’t call him on it. This is the closest they’ve ever gotten to discussing their relationship, so pushing for a more definitive term feels silly. And Osamu figures he’s probably been tricking himself into thinking it was anything more, anyway._

_“Probably,” he agrees._

_Rin nods once, watching him carefully. “I’ll still be home to visit when I can. We’ve talked about that.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“But it won’t be that often. And it would be a waste, probably, for us to… wait on each other, like that.”_

_It’s hard not to flinch at that, or pull away, but he manages. “Yeah,” he repeats._

_“We’re really young, ‘Samu. I’m not saying I don’t want to keep-” Rin’s brow furrows for a moment, then smooths again. “You’re my best friend. That’s not going to change, not for me. And when I visit, if you want to keep… fooling around, we can.”_

_“I do,” Osamu says immediately. “And, yeah. Me too.”_

_Rin lets out a slow breath. He brushes his thumb against the fragile skin beneath Osamu’s eye and Osamu turns into the touch like a flower to the sun. “I just think it’s better if we don’t expect anything from each other. If you meet someone, you should go for it.”_

_Osamu’s stomach twists. “Yeah- I mean. Yeah.” He squeezes Rin’s hip, doing his best to be reassuring. “You too, Rin. I don’t want to hold you back.”_

_“Okay.” Rin smiles, just a little. “So we agree.”_

_“Yeah.” Osamu does his best to return the smile and lies through his teeth. “No strings attached. We’re best friends who fuck sometimes, but we’re not stoppin’ each other from fuckin’ anyone else.”_

_“Two free agents,” Rin says._

_“We’re on the prowl,” Osamu says. He shifts up to hover over Rin. Rin’s hand moves to his chest, rising and falling with the motion of his lungs._

_“Sowing our wild seed.” Rin shifts, hitching a leg around Osamu’s hips to pull him closer._

_“Painting the town red.” Osamu lowers his head, nosing his way beneath Rin’s chin._

_“Young, wild, and free.” Rin grinds his hips up, just the way Osamu likes, and Osamu sinks into him, lips fluttering down the line of his neck._

_“Watch out, young eligible bachelors and bachelorettes.” He sinks his teeth into the muscle between Rin’s neck and shoulder and Rin moans beneath him._

_“Can’t think of any more cliches, ‘Samu,” he whispers._

_“Thank God,” Osamu murmurs, and tries to forget the conversation all together._

_\---_

When Osamu is finally home, showered, and tucked into bed, he unblocks Rin’s number and hits _call._

Rin answers after the first ring. Neither of them say a word and the silence lingers tentatively across the line. Osamu caves first.

“Someone bought my food,” he whispers, and squeezes his pillow to his chest. There’s another moment of silence, before it’s broken by a soft giggle that makes Osamu’s heart clench. That giggle accompanies his favorite smile, where Rin’s eyes squeeze tight and his cheeks pinken and his mouth compresses into a tiny curve.

 _“‘Samu,”_ he breathes. _“That’s amazing.”_

Osamu has to scrub his sleeve across his eyes to hold off tears. “It was just Akaashi-kun. He asked me to make ‘im some onigiri and he insisted on payin’-”

 _“It counts,”_ Rin says. _“It counts, Osamu.”_

Osamo squeezes his body around his pillow and feels joy sing through every nerve ending. It hadn’t counted until this very moment, he thinks. Not until he could share it with Rin.

“Rin,” he says, breathless. “I missed you.”

The silence that lingers is worse than before, and when Rin speaks, he sounds like he’s choking around the words. “ _Missed you, ‘Samu.”_

Osamu can’t stop the tears this time. “Miss you so bad.”

_“I’m sorry. I can’t- I can’t say it enough. I’m sorry-”_

Osamu listens to him sniff across the line and aches. He doesn’t try to stop him or comfort him. He waits. He thinks he deserves an explanation. Rin deserves one too, but that can come next.

Rin sucks in air sharply and goes quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is nobly steady. _“We won our game that night. We went out to celebrate after. Washio was giving me and Komori drinks, since he’s of-age and we aren’t yet. And- And I don’t even remember getting to the club. I sort of remember leaving the place we had dinner, but it’s fuzzy.”_ He pauses, like he’s composing himself again. _“A bunch of girls came over to us, I guess they were fans? Or I don’t know, maybe just girls. One of them was flirting with me and- I was trying to just be polite, take a picture, I don’t know. The room was spinning, ‘Samu, I really can’t emphasize enough how beyond drunk we were. I felt like shit for two days.”_

“That’s just because ya never take care of yourself when yer hungover, Rin.”

There’s a short, stunned silence. _“You’re right.”_ He huffs a laugh. _“But- we, we were chatting and she kissed me. And I hadn’t kissed...”_ A painful pause. _“Hadn’t kissed you in a while. And it was nice, and I wasn’t thinking straight. Then she started kissing my neck and I realized what I was doing and what was happening and shoved her off of me. Komori says I caused a little bit of a scene.”_

“Make her cry?” Osamu asks, and bitterly hopes that the answer is _yes._

_“One of her friends got pissed and tried to fight me. Komori tried to hold her back and he caught a black eye.”_

He can’t muffle his snort. The image of poor Komori trying to fend off an enraged club girl is fucking _ridiculous_. “How bad did ya tease him?”

A pause. _“Didn’t tease him at all, really,”_ he admits. _“I’ve been a little distracted.”_

Osamu winces and looks down at his toes, clenching and unclenching them in the sheets. “Yeah.”

 _“I’m really sorry,”_ Rin says again.

Osamu takes a deep breath and asks, “Were ya ever gonna tell me?”

 _“Of course,”_ Rin says quickly. “ _Of course I was. I just hadn’t figured out how to yet. I didn’t- I really didn’t want to hurt you. But I didn’t know how to explain myself. It wasn’t my fault, she kissed me- but, it wasn’t not my fault either. I just- fucked up. I didn’t want to hurt you.”_

Osamu holds his breath and lets it go in a long sigh. He knows that. Rin likes to fuck around and tease and taunt- but Rin doesn’t like _hurting_ people. Osamu can’t remember a single time he’s acted with true malice. “I know.”

_“I’m really, really sorry, ‘Samu.”_

His turn on the chopping block, then. He squeezes his eyes closed. “No, Rin. Ya didn’t do anything I said ya couldn’t.”

_“But-”_

“We decided together when ya left that this- that-” Osamu huffs. “We decided we weren’t in an exclusive relationship or whatever. Ya didn’t do anything wrong. So stop sayin’ yer sorry.”

“' _Samu-”_

“I’m sorry,” he continues. His heart is throbbing in its cage, picking up speed and threatening to crack through its bars. “I’m sorry for blockin’ you and not givin’ you a chance to explain yourself. That wasn’t fair. It- I’m-” He swallows and his mouth is painfully dry. “ _We_ , we’re best friends. And I cut ya off like you don’t mean a thing to me, like some bullshit could stop that. And it can’t, so I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Rin.”

_“Osamu, you don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who-”_

“But I did break our promise,” Osamu plows on. He feels like he’s vibrating, coiled tight enough to snap. He isn’t good at this. “Because we said we weren’t exclusive, but I am. I’m exclusive to ya. Ya might not belong to me, Rin, but I’ve belonged to you for a long time. I’m all yours.”

_“What-”_

“But I don’t want you to say anything right now. I want ya to think about that.” Because it’s a _lot_ and Osamu isn’t sure he could survive talking about this for much longer. “What I just said, and- and just know that I can’t do what we’ve been doin’ anymore. If ya want me, it’s gonna have to be something real. I can’t do casual with _you_ , Rin. I’m too in love with ya for that.”

Rin sucks in a sharp breath that crackles across the line. Osamu kicks away his pillow and shifts to sit up. He can’t be still right now, not when his heart is racing and his body is telling him to _run._

“So. Just, think on it. And come see me as soon as ya can.” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Good night, Rin.”

 _“‘Samu,”_ Rin says quickly. _“Can I text you? Or do you want me to leave you alone?”_

Osamu considers saying _no_ for half a second. “You can text me. And, uh. Don’t forget that we owe Atsumu. For this.”

_“The usual?”_

“Yeah. 80-20 split good for you?”

_“Seems pretty fair.”_

“Alright then.” Osamu presses his fingers against his swollen eyelids. He doesn’t want to hang up. “Good night, Rin.”

_“Good night, ‘Samu.”_

The silence afterwards is deafening, with only his own frantic heartbeat as company.

\---

_The first night Rin returns from Nagoya, Osamu has to work. But when he leaves the restaurant, Rin is waiting for him in the back alley. He’s got on ripped jeans and a t-shirt that really highlights the way his shoulders have broadened from just one month on a professional team. His lips quirk as soon as Osamu steps outside, and he allows Osamu to pull him into a hug immediately._

_“You smell terrible,” Rin says, nose pressed into his hair._

_“You try sweatin’ in a kitchen for a couple of hours.”_

_“Careful. Talk like that and I won’t give you these.” Rin holds up a paper bag of fresh pork buns and Osamu has to fight the urge to kiss him then and there._

_They walk home together, back to Osamu’s house. Osamu eats and Rin fills the silence with meandering stories about his new team that Osamu has already heard on their phone calls. He doesn’t mind. He likes listening to Rin. His mother is working the late shift at the hospital this month, so the house is empty when they arrive. That had been part of the plan, of course._

_Osamu drags Rin into a kiss as soon as the door is closed behind them. He pulls away before Rin can respond and backs down the hallway. “I’m gonna take a shower. And then I’m gonna take ya apart.”_

_That’s not how it happens, though. Instead, Rin drags him into bed and kisses him until Osamu feels like putty under his hands. He fucks him open with fingers more familiar to Osamu than his own, mouth pressed against his ear._

_“You’re gorgeous, ‘Samu. Never seen anyone so gorgeous in my life, you know that?”_

_He’s practically sobbing by the time Rin rolls him onto his side and scoots against his back. Rin presses into him and Osamu inexplicably feels like he’s come home for the first time in weeks. The curious ache behind his ribs of something like homesickness disappears, and he crooks a knee to his chest to give Rin more room. Rin can’t move as much like this, can’t fuck him as hard as Osamu had been dreaming of._

_This is it’s own special torment, because instead Rin is pressed against him from head to toe. He’s working bruises into Osamu’s shoulder between whispered praises, and Osamu feels like he would float away if Rin wasn’t anchoring him here._

_“I like to feel you breathe,” Rin murmurs, lips pressed against the nape of his neck. He has his greedy hands splayed, one across Osamu’s belly and the other at the base of his throat. He’s gentle. So fucking gentle. Osamu can’t move an inch. He can’t tip his head back because Rin is there. He can’t tip his head forward without increasing the delicate pressure of Rin’s hand. He’s trapped. Absolutely trapped. And it feels so fucking good. He lets out a short exhale and twists an arm back to grip Rin’s hip. “Breathe, ‘Samu.”_

_Osamu lets out a whine and tips his head forward into the press of Rin’s hand. It makes it hard to suck in another breath and Osamu shakes with it, overwhelmed. Rin’s hand shifts so he’s cupping Osamu’s neck gently, not restricting his airflow so much as suggesting that he could, anytime he wants to._

_“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” Rin’s teeth graze over his skin and Osamu feels goosebumps spring up on his arms. He sinks his fingers into Rin’s hip and grinds back against him, desperate for more. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”_

_In this moment, Osamu feels worshipped. He feels exalted. He feels owned._

_It’s the moment he realizes, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is desperately, hopelessly in love with Suna Rintarou._

_“Yeah,” he whimpers. “Please-”_

_Rin’s hand shifts up carefully, thumb brushing against the hollow of his throat. “Two taps if you want me to stop. Got it?”_

_“Yeah, yeah-”_

_The hand against his stomach presses firmly and Rin’s hips still. Osamu whimpers, trying to grind against him again._

_“What do you do if you want me to stop?” Rin asks, clear and firm. Osamu focuses on the sound of his voice and lets out a shaky breath._

_“Two taps.”_

_“Good.” Rin emphasizes the point with a sharp thrust and Osamu gasps, tipping his head back. Rin’s hand settles on his throat again and his thumb presses delicately into the hollow and Osamu can’t breathe. He squeaks out a moan and feels himself go pliant, soft wheezes forcing their way out of his throat with each shift of Rin’s hips. The pressure isn’t consistent; Rin’s thumb flutters over his pulse, just enough to let Osamu suck in harsh breaths that he wastes on desperate whines._

_I love you, he thinks. I trust you, I want you, I want you, do you feel me? Can you tell? Rin, Rin, Rin-_

_He doesn’t realize he’s coming until it’s too late to try and stop it. Rin releases his throat immediately and Osamu lets out a hoarse shout, shaking through it for so long he wonders if it will ever stop._

_He comes down to the feeling of Rin rocking gently into his trembling body, placing delicate kisses across his shoulder._

_“-beautiful. You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect, ‘Samu.”_

_Osamu whimpers and twists an arm back to hold onto Rin’s hair. He still feels weightless, aftershocks fluttering through him as Rin chases his own release. When Rin comes, it’s with his mouth pressed to Osamu’s ear, and Osamu’s name on his lips._

_I love you, Osamu thinks. I shouldn’t. I’m sorry._

\---

After Osamu hangs up, he sits there for a long time, staring at the wall. He can’t tell if he feels better yet. He told the truth. He crossed the tentative line they’ve been dancing around for nearly four years because he had to. He didn’t have a choice. But-

He’s got his phone against his ear before he has time to reconsider.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, Akaashi. Is this a bad time?” Osamu glances at his alarm clock and winces. It’s nearly midnight.

 _“I’m just leaving the library. I have a few minutes.”_ He sounds as level as always and Osamu lets out a nervous laugh. _“Is everything alright, Osamu-sa- sorry. Osamu?”_

“Yeah. Or.” Osamu scrubs a hand through his hair and stands, pacing in the narrow, empty space beside his bed. “Not really?”

_“Okay.”_

“I just- I kind of have a question. Because I think I maybe did something stupid, or maybe I did the right thing or- I don’t know. I really don’t know, but- did you or Bokkun say I love you first?”

Akaashi makes a startled noise that he muffles quickly. The silence hangs for long enough that Osamu realizes it was probably an invasive question to just spring on his _very_ new friend.

“Fuck. Pretend I didn’t ask that.”

 _“No,”_ Akaashi says. He sounds completely unruffled. _“It’s alright. That wasn’t a question I was expecting, so I was surprised.”_ He pauses and this time Osamu doesn’t try to interrupt. He grabs his cigarettes from his shoe and barrels outside instead. Akaashi starts speaking just as he steps into the garden.

 _“Bokuto-san is… effusive in his love. I never doubted that he loved me, I just didn’t believe it was in the same way I loved him.”_ A pause. _“I never said anything for that reason. After his graduation, he moved to Osaka and I expected that may be it. And I didn’t mind, because I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. And volleyball makes him happy.”_

“But what about yer happiness?” Osamu can’t help asking. He takes a painfully deep drag and scuffs his toe into the grass.

Akaashi laughs, soft and fond, and a shade bitter. _“It was an afterthought. I assumed that if Bokuto was happy, I would be happy as well.”_

Osamu’s chest feels tight. He ashes his cigarettes in his mother’s gnarled rose bushes and tries not to think about how familiar that sounds. “Were ya?”

 _“Hm… sometimes.”_ He sounds almost hesitant and Osamu winces. Definitely not appropriate to ask a new friend. _“I missed him very much. He texted me often, and called sometimes… but you know how hard the transition to a new team can be.”_

“Yeah. I think Bokkun is the only reason it wasn’t so awful for ‘Tsumu.”

 _“As I said. Open with his love.”_ Akaashi hums across a short pause. _“Over winter break, he invited me to visit him in Osaka. It will be so cool, Akaashi,”_ he mimics, dragging out the middle of his own name. His voice is so fond that Osamu can’t help smiling a little. _“So I went. I can be terribly indulgent of his bad ideas. Sometimes he has a way of making them seem like too much fun to pass up.”_

“I’ve heard all about that from ‘Tsumu too.”

_“Please don’t get me started on the trouble they get into together. I’ve found more grey hairs-”_

Osamu laughs and lights another cigarette. “Welcome to the club.”

 _“Hmph.”_ Akaashi clicks his tongue and hesitates before continuing. _“When I arrived in Osaka, he was waiting at the station. I hadn’t seen him in so long and I had- forgotten, I think. How effervescent he is. He had a whole itinerary planned for us. He carried my bag all day, because he was too excited to drop it off at his apartment before showing me his city.”_

“Cute.”

 _“Incredibly,”_ Akaashi agrees. _“He took me to his favorite ramen stall, his favorite konbini, his favorite park… he found a photography exhibit and took me there too. At the end of the day, on the train back to his apartment he said-”_ He pauses and clears his throat delicately. _“Sorry. He said, see, Akaashi? Isn’t Osaka amazing? I think it’s even better with you. I think that’s because I love you so much.”_

Well _fuck_. That blows his confession right out of the water, doesn’t it? That’s probably how a confession is supposed to be. Not an awkward outburst in the midst of an already fraught conversation. 

_“I couldn’t say a word. He thought I was mad at him.”_ Akaashi isn’t much of a smiler, but Osamu would bet his entire savings he’s smiling right now. _“I told him that he should be careful who he says such a thing to. And he promised he wouldn’t say it to anyone else, because he didn’t love anyone else so much anyway.”_ He laughs, just a smidge self-deprecating. _“We’ve been dating since then, so. I don’t know if that’s a good answer to your question-”_

“Ya about got me in tears here, Akaashi,” Osamu whines, just to lighten the mood. “Bokkun’s got moves.”

_“Oh, no. He’s just like that.”_

“Good for you then.” Osamu laughs and Akaashi laughs a bit, too. “And that, ah. That helps, I guess.”

Akaashi makes a thoughtful noise. _“Is this about Suna-san?”_

Osamu drops his cigarette and curses when it lands on his bare foot. “Ah- sorry, what-”

 _“Oh. Is that meant to be a secret? I’m sorry.”_ Akaashi doesn’t sound very sorry. Maybe Akaashi _can_ be mischievous.

“Yeah, it’s about Sunarin,” Osamu admits, kneeling down to inspect his foot. “I mighta confessed to him a few minutes ago, and I’m freakin’ out a little.”

_“Why?”_

Osamu collapses onto the grass and squints up at the sky. “I dunno. We’ve been fuckin’ since we were in highschool, but we’ve never really talked about it. We decided to be- I dunno, casual? When he moved?”

_“Hm.”_

“I think I fucked it up, is what I mean.”

 _“Being honest does not fuck anything up,”_ Akaashi says plainly and Osamu is sort of surprised he knows how to curse.

“He’s never said anythin’ about havin’ feelings for me, so he’s probably gonna cut me off-”

_“What did he say when you told him?”_

Osamu feels himself flush. “I, uh. I didn’t really let him say anything. I just told him to think about it.” The unimpressed silence on the other end of the line makes him squirm. 

_“Do you like making messes, Osamu-san?”_ Akaashi asks coolly. 

“I was scared, alright? And don’t come back at me with the _Osamu-san_ shit, I know I’m a disaster.” Which is why he hadn’t called Atsumu. Atsumu has been dealing with him being a _disaster_ for the last week. And on top of that, Atsumu has no clue what being _in love_ is even like. “I should have kept my mouth shut. What we had worked-”

_“Do you remember what I told you before? When you refused to allow me to pay for your food?”_

Osamu shakes his head a bit at the sudden topic change, frowning. “Uh. Probably, that was only a few days ago-”

_“Which is why I find it peculiar that I have to repeat myself. Don’t devalue yourself, please.”_

It would have been kinder for him to take a train to Hyogo and slap Osamu directly in the face, really. “Akaashi-”

 _“I’ve only had the opportunity to observe the two of you together once-”_ After an EJP vs. MSBY game, where all five of them had spent the evening in Atsumu’s apartment. Osamu remembers holding Rin’s hands beneath the kotatsu and how he’d rubbed his fingers and palms to ease the stress of the game. He remembers the way it had made Rin’s cheeks turn pink. _“-so I can’t speak to how you treat each other. But if you have feelings for him, it would be a disservice to yourself to attempt to hide them.”_

Osamu shuffles his feet against the grass, swallowing down the urge to argue. What comes up instead is, “But what if he doesn’t want me anymore?”

_“Then it’s for the best that you face that now.”_

The kicker is that Osamu knows he’s right. There’s something wrong inside of him, and that _something_ has been festering for at least the last six months. Something has to give, something has to _change._ And he’s been putting off the inevitable with Rin for too long. He really does need something _real._

“That’s not very comforting, ya know.”

_“I’m not much for pep talks.”_

“Nah, ya did alright. At least now I have something to aspire to.” Osamu pushes himself to his feet. “You and Bokkun ever get tired of being perfect?”

 _“Not so far,”_ Akaashi says primly. _“Good luck, Osamu.”_

“Yeah. Thanks, Akaashi. I appreciate ya. Really.”

_“Of course. Good night.”_

“Night.”

Osamu brushes his teeth again and rinses his face with cold water before returning to bed. He opens up his cash app to send Atsumu his portion of their traditional, begrudging _thank you_ and snorts at the public memo from Rin with the message line _fuck you_ accompanying a transfer of two thousand yen. He sends an additional five hundred with his own _fuck you_.

Seconds later, a message from _rin_ pops up. 

**1:05, rin  
** _We might have to actually verbally thank him for this one, you know._

 **1:06, Miya Osamu  
** _i would rather die._

_\---_

_“I’m losin’ it, Rin,” Osamu mumbles. He’s curled up in Atsumu’s abandoned bottom bunk, his phone balanced on his knees. Rin is watching him through the screen, reclined in his own bed almost four hours away. Osamu had considered buying a ticket. He’d be sitting beside Rin right now if he had._

_But. But that isn’t something a best friend does. He didn’t want Rin for friendly comfort, not exclusively. The soft, insistent buzz of - I love him I love him I love him -_ _hasn’t stopped and probably never will, but Osamu thinks it’s best not to indulge. Not if he wants to keep Rin close, even if the caveat is that he’s never close enough._

_“What’s going on?” Rin’s watching him like he’s a puzzle. It’s both irritating and comforting._

_“I hate work.”_

_“Retweet,” Rin quips, his lips quirking up faintly._

_“I’m fuckin’ serious.” Osamu falls to the side on the bed, propping his phone against the pillow. “It’s- working in a kitchen isn’t like what I thought. What am I doin’, Rin?”_

_Rin’s eyes soften a fraction and he shifts so that he’s laying on his side, too, like they’re parallel on the same bed. It's almost domestic and Osamu feels guilt tugging at him for even thinking about it._

_“You’re not going to work in someone else’s kitchen forever,” he says finally. “You’re going to run your own. This is just for the experience, sweetheart.”_

_Osamu feels the endearment like a knife in his gut. Somehow it still makes him relax, and words push past his lips before he thinks to stop them. “I miss ya, Rin.”_

_Rin snorts, but his eyes betray his delight. “You miss me?”_

_“Don’t get a big head.”_

_“No take backs,” Rin drawls. He watches him through the camera for a long moment. “Come here, then.”_

_Osamu snorts this time, even though he feels warm all the way to the tips of his toes. “I can’t just hop a train to Nagoya,” he says, like he hadn’t almost done just that a couple of hours ago._

_“Sure you can.” Rin hums and Osamu can hear it as he taps at his phone. “I’ll buy you a ticket right now.”_

_“Rin, don’t do that.” Osamu huffs a laugh. “I don’t want ya to buy me shit, you or fuckin’ Atsumu. I got a job.”_

_“Does eleven tomorrow morning work for you?” Rin arches a brow._

_“...yeah. Eleven works. I’m off work anyway.”_

_“I’ll pick you up for a late lunch,” Rin says, and Osamu doesn’t bother arguing. He just watches Rin with a smile he hopes doesn’t betray how fucking in love he is._

_(Rin gives him a key to his apartment at lunch the next day. He can barely meet Osamu’s eyes when he murmurs, “You’re my best friend. You’re always welcome, even if I’m not there. So. Here.” Osamu doesn’t think about how the label “best friend” twists the knife in his stomach deeper and squeezes his new key in his hand tightly enough to drive ridges into his skin.)_

\---

Atsumu has always been the neat one.

Well, not always. When they were still children, the house was kept out of constant turmoil by their nana. While their mother went to school, nana had been the one to keep everything tidy. She dusted, swept, mopped, picked up scattered toys, and each night, took the twins into the kitchen and put them on the counter to chatter at her while she cooked. 

It wasn’t until nana had passed that Atsumu had taken up the responsibility of being the family neat freak. He had never managed to flawlessly maintain the house as nana had- for one, he had been nine at the start, and there are certain things children can’t do as deftly as adults. But regardless of inability and later, a lack of time, Atsumu was the one who woke up early on Sunday to handle piles of laundry, gather junk, wash stacks of dishes, and do general household maintenance that Osamu and their mother had a blind eye for.

Which is why, since he had moved to Osaka, the house has become a bit of a disaster. They’re good about the kitchen. Neither of them like bad smells, so the trash is regularly taken and the dishes are done. But there are dust bunnies in the corners (one afternoon, they had sprawled across the couch and named them), clutter on every surface, and Osamu isn’t sure the last time they did more than one load of laundry each in a week.

On Saturday morning, a week and a half after his last call to Rin, Rin texts him a confirmation of his arrival that night at six. Osamu lurches out of bed before noon and begins to _clean._

He sweeps and mops the floors. He vacuums every rug. He spends an hour scrubbing down every surface in the bathroom. He changes his sheets and opens the window to air out the room as he methodically washes every article of clothing that has piled in the corner on top of and around his hamper. He fills an entire bag with cans and snack wrappers that have accumulated on every flat surface throughout the house.

By five thirty, the only thing still out of place is his mother. She’s been hunkered down on the couch all morning, swaddled in fuzzy blankets and a MSBY hoodie that covers her little gremlin hands entirely. Osamu only feels comfortable referring to his mother as a _gremlin_ because she’s been munching on popcorn the entire afternoon, dropping errant kernels on his otherwise immaculate floor.

It’s his turn to take a step in front of the television, arms extended. “Ma.”

“Yer blockin’ the screen, ‘Samu,” she says. She stuffs another fistful of popcorn in her mouth.

Osamu narrows his eyes. “I told ya Sunarin is comin’ tonight. Ya said you were gonna go out with-” He wrinkles his nose. “- _the girls.”_

She shoves another handful of popcorn into her mouth and arches a brow. If Atsumu had inherited her dramatics, Osamu had inherited her _bullheadedness._

“What gives?” He drops down to sit on their kotatsu directly in front of her.

She pokes out her lip. “ _The girls_ cancelled on me. And now my _own son_ is trying to eject me from my house. Where he pays _no_ bills-”

Osamu holds up his hands, surrendering. “Point taken. Just- yer not gonna be rude to Sunarin, are ya?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Of course not.”

Osamu does _not_ believe her. But he’s got less than an hour before Rin arrives, and he needs a shower. So he leaves her to it and shuffles off to the bathroom. 

It’s not until he’s under the spray that he lets his panic catch up to him. Rin is _coming_ and now there’s no way to escape. Rin is coming, and they’re going to talk about their feelings. Rin is going to let him down gently and Osamu is going to have to pretend that he’s alright just being Rin’s _friend._ The thought makes his chest constrict, but he thinks it on repeat anyway, begging for acceptance to come as he has every day for the last week.

_Rin is just my friend. Rin is just my friend. Sunarin. Suna. Suna is just my friend. Suna is just my friend. Suna is just-_

He’s still repeating the silent mantra an hour later when he answers the door, dressed in fresh sweatpants (a pair that he knows makes him look good, because he refuses to _play fair_ about all this) and a stretched out Inarizaki t-shirt that fits his shoulders just a bit too snuggly. Rin is waiting at the door with a duffle bag over his shoulder and Osamu realizes belatedly that he’s grown since he saw him last, and he has to look up just a fraction more.

“Hey,” Rin says. His lips look raw and Osamu wonders how much time he’s spent worrying them.

“Hey.” Osamu moves out of the way and Rin steps into the genkan. He toes off his sneakers and nudges them into line beside his mother’s work crocs. The size difference is comical enough that Osamu lets out a little huff of laughter and Rin cuts a look his way, lips quirking.

“Hello, _Rintarou_ ,” says the _fucking gremlin_ on the couch. She cranes her neck to peek over at them. Osamu makes a throat-slashing motion behind Rin’s back that only makes her eyes glimmer.

Rin shifts into a tiny half-bow. “Hello, Akako-san.”

“That’s Miya-san to you, kid-”

“We’re goin’ to my room,” Osamu interjects. He puts his hands on Rin’s shoulders and steers him towards the hallway. “Night, ma.”

“It’s only six thirty!”

“Good _night_ , ma _._ ” 

Rin lets out a little snicker as Osamu manhandles him away. Osamu doesn’t relax until his door is closed behind them. He slumps against it, fighting off another wave of anxiety as he realizes that _now_ the conversation has to happen. He probably should have let his mother go a few rounds with Rin-

Rin, who is staring incredulously at Osamu’s overly-made bed. The pillows are stacked almost _too_ perfectly, and the window is still cracked to let in the late afternoon breeze.

“Shut up,” Osamu says, before Rin has the opportunity to call him out.

Rin makes a lip zipping motion and drops his duffle bag at the foot of the bed. He climbs wordlessly onto the mattress and sits criss-cross, looking at Osamu expectantly. Osamu crawls up opposite him and mimics his posture, just the tips of their knees touching over Osamu’s freshly washed comforter. It feels like being fifteen again, when they’d sit just like this and whisper secrets while Atsumu slept below them.

“So,” Rin says, dragging out the syllables. “Can I respond to your confession now?”

Osamu feels his stomach drop and his face heat in the same moment. The effect is nauseating. _Suna is just my friend,_ he reminds himself, then nods.

“Of course I love you, ‘Samu,” he says, like it’s just that simple. Osamu stares at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Rin arches a brow.

“And?”

“I was expecting a little more enthusiasm, don’t know why.” Rin rolls his eyes and then looks down at his lap. Osamu watches his teeth catch against a raw patch of skin on his lip and wants to soothe it with his tongue. “I love you, ‘Samu,” he repeats. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, I just-” He lets out a slow breath, shoulders curling that much deeper. “And it’s not like I didn’t know that you love me too. That sort of makes me an ass, but-” He looks back up, mouth pressed into a strained line. His sweet, pink lips are bleached white under the pressure.

Osamu frowns. “If you did- if you _knew_ , then why-?”

“I wanted us to have options.” Rin’s eyes shy away again. His fingers are clenching and unclenching against his thighs and Osamu wants to cover them with his own. But not yet.

“You wanted to have options,” Osamu corrects lightly.

“No.” When Rin looks at him again, his eyes are sharp and calculating. “I wanted _you_ to have options. Look at my career, ‘Samu, and think about it. I live in a different city, my profession isn’t exactly _accepting_ of openly gay players- fuck. I might leave the _country_ to play at some point before I retire.”

He’s not wrong. Long distance relationships are notoriously difficult, being openly queer in the sports arena is _hard_ , and Osamu has dreaded the concept of international teams since he realized at fifteen that Atsumu’s interest in volleyball wasn’t a passing fascination. All of that to say-

“So?”

Rin’s brows lift, mouth hanging open in disbelief for a long moment before he lets out a croaking laugh. “ _So?”_

“So what?” Osamu leans back a bit, frowning at him. “That’s not a problem for me.”

“How is that-” Rin covers his face with both hands. “Osamu.”

“Ya got my heart in your pocket, Rin. That’s not gonna change if you move to Turkey or some shit.” The fear of this morning and the weeks (fuck, _months_ ) before is gone. Now, to be completely honest, Osamu is sort of pissed.

“Then why didn’t you _fight for me?”_ Rin looks up again and Osamu startles back. There are tears clinging to the corners of Rin’s eyes like crystals and the void in Osamu’s stomach rips wide open. Fuck, it’s _impossible_ to stay mad at him.

“I thought it’s what ya wanted,” he says slowly. He reaches out and covers one of Rin’s hands with his carefully. “I thought ya wanted the option to date someone else. I didn’t want to stop ya from being happy, Rin.”

Rin glances away again, but his spindly fingers curl through Osamu’s and squeeze like he’s afraid Osamu is going to pull away. “I’m happy with _you,_ ” he mutters. His voice is thick and it makes something lodge in Osamu’s throat.

“Yeah,” Osamu mumbles. “Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while. The chatter of birds beyond the window is giving way to the quiet chorus of crickets and cicadas. The peek of sky Osamu can see through the glass has faded into a cotton candy collection of pinks and purples. Rin is still the loveliest thing he can see, from the irritated red of his lash line to the delicate tip of his chin.

“All of my friends forgot me when I left Aichi,” Rin says eventually. His grip on Osamu’s hand has eased, and Osamu can’t help but think about how their fingers fit together like puzzle pieces. “And before that, when we moved to Aichi, all my friends forgot me too.” His thumb presses into the side of Osamu’s index finger, rubbing against the knuckle hard enough to make it pop. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Osamu says. Then, “You thought I was gonna forget ya, Rin?”

“No? Yes?” Rin shrugs a little. There are still tears sitting in his eyes, waiting for permission to fall. “Not really,” he decides. “But I thought that maybe, yeah… people adore you, Osamu.”

Osamu snorts despite himself and gives Rin’s hand a squeeze. “Bullshit.”

“You had a fan club,” Rin points out, giving him a wholly unimpressed look. It makes his nose scrunch up. Osamu wants to kiss him.

“They were more into Atsumu than me.” Until Atsumu spoke, anyway. That was usually the deal breaker. Then, they would decide that Osamu was the _easier_ twin. He was the backup option.

“They made signs and shirts with your name on them.” Rin rolls his eyes and looks down at their hands. “You got more confessions than Atsumu. Girls were always giving you chocolates and crying over you.”

Osamu can’t help smiling, just a little. “Are ya tellin’ me you were jealous?” The look Rin gives him is acidic and Osamu’s smile transforms into a full grin.

“Shut up.”

“Cute.” Osamu taps the bottom of his chin with his free hand. “I could never forget ya, Rin.”

“Never say never.”

“That shit’s contradictory.” Osamu leans forward and gives Rin’s hand another squeeze. “I remember the first time I saw ya, Rin. I might remember every time I saw ya. There’s a whole section of my brain carved out just for you.”

Rin’s lips press together in the way that says he’s doing his best to repress a smile. “Cheesy.”

“I mean it.” Osamu shrugs. “And I meant what I said earlier, too. I don’t care if bein’ with ya is hard because of your job or where ya live or any of that. Bein’ without ya is harder.” Rin stares at him, like he’s the one waiting for the other shoe to drop. Osamu cups his cheek in his palm, leaning forward a fraction more. “I’m fightin’ for ya now, okay?”

Rin blinks once and the tears clinging to his lashes finally start to fall. He recoils with a groan and wipes his fingers carefully beneath his eyes to brush them away. “ _Fuck_ you, ‘Samu-”

Osamu snickers and catches his wrists to tug his hands away. “So are ya my boyfriend now? Say yer my boyfriend now.”

“I’m _yer_ boyfriend,” Rin snaps. “And I _hate_ you.”

“You love me,” Osamu corrects and leans in to kiss him regardless of the fat tears running down his cheeks. Rin presses into it immediately, fingers curling into the stretched collar of Osamu’s shirt to keep him close. Osamu finally gets to brush his tongue across the damaged skin of Rin’s lips, and he hopes it feels like an apology even if it tastes like salt and copper.

Rin leans back to scrub his sleeve across his cheeks before leaning in again, hands pressed flat against Osamu’s chest. Osamu hums into his mouth and slides his hands gently up his thighs, coaxing him forward into his lap with gentle tugs.

And then his door is thrown open, and his mother appears in actual clothes instead of scrubs or pajamas, a victorious smile on her face. “The girls are back! I’m headed out- oh, so are we not mad at Rin-Rin anymore?”

Osamu narrows his eyes and doesn’t let go of Rin’s hips, turning his head towards her. “No,” he says. “We’re not. I guess we’re also not _knockin’?_ ”

Rin drops his head into the hollow of Osamu’s neck, muffling a snort against his skin.

His mother’s leer is a carbon copy of Atsumu’s, and Osamu has to fight the urge to respond by hurling his alarm clock in her direction. “Just checkin’.” Her smile softens and she leans her hip into the doorway. “I’m gonna stay at Reiko-chan’s tonight, I think.”

He’s glad he didn’t throw anything at her, actually. “You can come back if ya want, ma,” Osamu offers.

“Nah.” She winks and wiggles her fingers as she closes the door. “Night, boys!”

Osamu slumps back on the mattress and pulls Rin down on top of him with a long sigh. “Are ya hungry?”

Rin nuzzles against his throat with a quiet hum. “Depends. What are you making me, sweetheart?”

\---

_Atsumu is being fucking weird._

_Osamu knows this. Atsumu has been jittery since they arrived at the game that afternoon. He’s been laughing a little too much and Osamu has seen him almost bite his nails more today than he has since they were in middle school. He’s also flirting with Komori, obnoxiously so, which means he’s either doing it purely as a joke or because he really wants to fuck. But neither of those options make sense. Atsumu generally likes Komori, so he wouldn’t tease him, but Komori is so outside of his usual type that there’s no fucking way he’s that thirsty for it._

_But Osamu is a little too distracted to try and parse out Atsumu’s odd behaviour. It’s a miracle he’s noticed it at all, since he’s barely been able to look at anything other than Rin. It’s pathetic, actually, but he can’t blame himself. Not when Rin is glowing._

_Because Rin is. Glowing, that is. It’s subtle. It’s all in the delighted sparkle of his eyes and the constant smile that’s more a smug curl than a grin. He’s fucking gorgeous, and Osamu’s so proud of him it feels like he’s spilling over with it. It drowns out the negativity that has taken root at his core. If he could bottle this feeling, he would._

_He’s not really keeping track of the conversation. Rin is quiet tonight, taking the praise being doled out by the older members of his team with a lazy smirk and a few falsely demure nods. His hand has been curled around Osamu’s ankle under the table since they sat down, and between bites, Osamu brushes his fingers against his knuckles._

_The meal is wrapping up when Sakusa leaves and Osamu gives him a polite nod when he raises his hand in a silent goodbye. It’s kind of odd, Osamu thinks, that Sakusa had deigned to hang around this long. He’s never struck Osamu as a particularly social guy. Actually, it was weird that Sakusa had suffered through Atsumu sitting beside him at the game, too._

_He lets it go before Sakusa makes it out of the room. There’s no reason for him to try and decipher the actions of an old high school rival. He turns his head back to Rin, who quirks a brow at him and squeezes his ankle before looking back at his captain. Osamu etches his profile into his memory for the hundredth time, fingers stroking across the delicate skin between his knuckles._

_“Hey.” Rin tips his head to look at him, thumb massaging a circle into the arch of his ankle. It makes Osamu shiver and Rin’s mouth twitches into a wider smile. “We’re gonna go to a bar. If you want to.”_

_“Yeah,” Osamu agrees. He licks his lips and Rin’s eyes follow the motion. “Let’s do it.”_

_“You’re on Atsumu babysitting duty.”_

_“I’m only agreein’ because it’s your big day.” Rin squeezes his ankle and Osamu snorts, turning his head to his brother. His words catch in his throat; Atsumu’s cheeks are flushed and his mouth is hanging open. His hands are wedged into the fold of his knees and he looks a little bit like he’s vibrating._

_“Oi,” Osamu says, sharp, and Atsumu’s head whips towards him, eyes wide and bright. Osamu wrinkles his nose in distaste and Atsumu doesn’t react to his disgust at all. Something is definitely going on with him._

_“Huh?” Atsumu tugs his hands free from his knees and glances past Osamu briefly._

_“We’re goin’ to a different bar,” Osamu says slowly, narrowing his eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”_

_“Oh.” Atsumu’s eyes flicker away and he lifts a hand to his forehead with a frown. “Uh. I don’t really feel too hot. Think I’m tired.”_

_Osamu gives him another thoughtful once-over and hums. He does look a bit feverish, and that would explain that odd gleam in his eyes. He lifts his hand, pressing the back of it against Atsumu’s forehead. He’s only a little warm, but it’s spring, and Atsumu always manages to catch a cold this time of year. “Yer warm,” he admits, and drops his hand. “Wanna go back? I can give ya a key to Suna’s.”_

_“Uh.” Atsumu stares at him for a long moment. Maybe his fever is worse than Osamu thought. He looks half-stupid with it. “Maybe. Yeah, I think so.” His mouth quirks into a lopsided smile and Osamu can’t believe he was worried about him for even two seconds. “Gonna be able to party without me?”_

_“We would prefer it,” Rin drawls, disinterested. But he’s watching Atsumu with mild concern, clearly noticing the same oddness Osamu had. “There’s ibuprofen in my medicine cabinet, if you need it.”_

_“So glad t’know I’m appreciated,” Atsumu says mulishly._

_“You remember the address?” Osamu tugs his keys out of his pocket, working the ring with Rin’s key off of the chain._

_“Yeah, I know where I’m goin’.” Atsumu’s eyes flicker over Osamu’s shoulder again._

_“And you know you’re sleeping on the couch?” Rin arches a brow and tilts forward, arm draping around Osamu’s shoulder. Osamu leans into him thoughtlessly, still wiggling the key loose._

_Atsumu mock-gags. “Yeah. I get it. Also, gross.”_

_Osamu sneaks a glance at Rin and smirks at the wide leer stretching across his face. “Jealousy is an ugly color on you, ‘Tsumu.”_

_Atsumu barks a laugh. “Yeah. I’m real jealous.” His eyes flicker again and Osamu glances back. The only thing on the wall that would need multiple glances is a clock._

_He looks at his brother again with narrow eyes and slaps the key into his open palm. “Don’t lose it.”_

_Atsumu rolls his eyes and pushes to his feet. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, waving at them over his shoulder. He gets caught in several more goodbyes and every few seconds, he glances at the clock, like he’s running on some kind of timer. Osamu glowers at his back._

_“He’s up to something,” Rin murmurs. His lips brush against Osamu’s cheek as he speaks and Osamu leans into him a little further._

_“Fuckin’ obviously. Liar.”_

_“Who cares?” Rin turns his head, lips pressing briefly against Osamu’s cheek in something very close to an actual kiss. “I just wanted you.”_

_“Then why’d ya make me bring him?”_

_Rin hesitates, and a begrudging smile crosses his face. “Please don’t make me admit that I wanted him here.”_

_Osamu snorts and stands, tugging Rin to his feet as the rest of their party begins moving. “It’s embarrassin’ that ya actually like him. Don’t even have blood as an excuse.”_

_“Too much exposure to him at a young age,” Rin says blithely, slipping to his feet. “I’m desensitized.”_

_“God, if only.”_

\---

After dinner, Osamu washes the dishes while Rin dries. Rin is standing close enough that their elbows bump. It’s warm, familiar, and Osamu wants to feel content.

The pit in his stomach is still there.

“Hey, Rin?” He focuses on the pan he’s scrubbing, at a stubborn patch of sauce that had burned when Rin had distracted him with a kiss.

“Mm?” Rin sets a plate aside on the rack and picks up the next.

“I think somethin’ might be wrong with me.”

Rin’s hands pause and he puts down the plate half-dried, tipping his head to look at him. He doesn’t speak, but Osamu can feel his focus. Always accessing, always watching- how had Osamu missed it? How had he not seen that Rin was looking back at him the whole time?

Osamu clears his throat carefully and keeps scrubbing, even though the pan is certainly clean enough. “I’m- sad. A lot.”

Rin sets his towel down entirely and leans his hip against the counter. “What do you mean?”

His stomach _clenches_. “Ah, I dunno. Forget it, it’s nothin’-”

“The pan’s clean, ‘Samu.” Rin reaches over and takes his elbows, guiding his dripping hands out of the water.

“Oi- stop that, I’m gonna get water everywhere-”

Rin grabs the towel and winds it around Osamu’s hands, arching a brow. “What do you mean you’re sad a lot?”

Osamu stills and allows Rin to dry his hands while he tries to figure out how to explain. The thing is, he’s been ignoring it- as much as you can ignore a constant gnawing in your gut and a fog in your head. He’d tried not to mention it, either. Not while Rin and Atsumu were settling in new cities. Not when work was eating up his mother’s time, and already stretching her thin. It was his problem, not theirs.

He thinks, maybe, that was fucking stupid. He thinks, probably, he should stop calling Atsumu the dumb one.

He stares at his hands, now dry and cradled in Rin’s, and lets out a slow breath. “I thought it was just you. Ya know.” He swallows. It feels like the thing in his stomach is crawling up, up, up, trying to lodge itself in his throat and stop him from speaking. “I thought it was just because I was missin’ ya and selfish because I wanted ya when ya didn’t want me-” He takes a sharp breath, absolutely alarmed because he’s begun _rambling._ “Which, in retrospect, ya know, that was pretty fuckin’ stupid of me. Because you’re not really that subtle, Rintarou, and I’m kinda grossed out by us.”

“Whoa.” Rin snorts and gives his hands a tug, lifting them up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Breathe, ‘Samu.”

Osamu shoots him a dirty look and feels his shoulders ease at the impish curl of his lips. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

“ _Ugh_.” Osamu yanks his hands out of Rin’s grip to settle them on his hips instead, tugging at him lightly. Rin drapes his arms over his shoulders, head tipped down to meet his eye.

“Keep going.”

Osamu breathes.

“It wasn’t just you,” he mumbles. He drags his thumbs along the arch of Rin’s hips, staring at a wrinkle in the front of his t-shirt rather than meeting his eyes. “I- I think my head is fucked up. I’m alone a lot, you know?” He squeezes and Rin shifts closer and slides his fingers through Osamu’s hair. “I spend time with ma, but she’s been stuck on nights for like, six months, and our schedules just…” He squeezes again and Rin hums, scratching gently at his scalp.

“I missed you a lot.” Osamu glances up briefly. “A lot. But I miss ‘Tsumu, too. And I miss-” He swallows again and tips forward, pressing his forehead against Rin’s shoulder. “I miss feelin’ like I’m doin’ something with myself. I fuckin’ hate my job, Rin. I fuckin’ hate it.”

Rin rubs a slow path up and down his spine, gathering him close. “You always say that,” he mumbles. “I didn’t think you really meant it.”

“I didn’t wanna mean it, ya know?” Osamu releases his hips to wind his arms around him instead. This time when he breathes, he smells Rin. He can smell his familiar deodorant, subtle and spicy, mixed with the same fabric soap his parents have always used, and the faint, clean smell of his skin. It’s comforting, in the exact same way his mother and Atsumu’s smells are - the smell of _family_. “I love cooking. But- no one else there does, it’s just a fuckin’ job. Makin’ those onigiri for Akaashi and Bokkun, that was-” He takes a stuttering breath. “It was the first time I’ve had fun cookin’ in over a year.”

Rin pulls him in a little tighter, pressing a kiss against his temple. “Why didn’t you tell me any of that before? We talk about you hating work all the time, but- I didn’t think-”

“I didn’t want to bother ya with it. I didn’t- it didn’t click until recently, how bad it’s gotten.” Osamu turns his face into Rin’s neck and is positively _mortified_ to realize he’s crying. Again. He’s cried more in the last fucking month than he has since he was an actual infant. “I feel like I’m wastin’ away. I feel like livin’ here and workin’ there is killin’ me.”

“‘Samu-” Rin shifts, locking his arms around him. Osamu muffles a noise against his skin and burrows closer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I should have noticed-”

“I didn’t want anyone to notice. I wanted to be okay. I didn’t want-” He shivers and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting off another swell of deeply unwanted emotion. “I think I gotta quit. I can’t do it anymore-”

“Quit,” Rin says immediately. He shifts them carefully, trapping Osamu between his body and the counter. Osamu shivers again, but it’s better this time. The whole world is Rin. “You can quit, ‘Samu.”

“What the fuck am I supposed t’ do? This is- it’s how I was gonna start. I thought learnin’ in a kitchen would be better than fuckin’ off to some bullshit culinary school, but I fucked up- I think I fucked up.”

“No.” Rin pulls back just a fraction, catching his jaw. “Nope. No.”

“You can’t just say _no-_ ”

“You didn’t fuck up.” Rin tips forward, pressing their foreheads together. “You tried something. It’s not like we thought you were going to work there forever, right?”

“But-”

“You got the job. You learned how a kitchen _can_ work. And you fucking hate it.” Rin squeezes his jaw and Osamu wrinkles his nose at the way it pushes out his lips. “So now you get to quit and we plan for phase two. Right?”

Osamu huffs a sigh. “I gotta make money-”

“We’ll figure that out.” Rin shrugs and releases his cheeks. “And we’ll figure out the rest of it too.” When he leans back enough for Osamu to see him properly, his eyes are soft and liquid green, focus narrowed down solely to Osamu. “I think we should also create a _no secrets_ policy.”

“Ya mean talk about our feelings and shit?” Osamu does his best to make a face, but he can feel a grin tugging at his mouth.

“I know,” Rin sighs, easing back enough to give him breathing room. “It’s horrible.”

“I’ll do it if you do.”

Rin sighs again, slumping his shoulders into a more dramatic slouch than usual, and holds out his pinky finger. His posturing does nothing to hide the soft curve of his smile. “Fine.”

Osamu smiles when he hooks their pinkies together. He takes a moment to admire Rin before blurting, “I started smoking. Don’t tell ma or ‘Tsumu.”

Rin’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen a fraction before he leans his forehead against Osamu’s shoulder, his whole body shaking with the force of his laughter. Osamu grins into his hair and feels something in his core relax. 

It’s a scratch at the surface, really. Osamu knows that. He still doesn’t understand the feelings that have propagated in his stomach and the thought of prying them out and finding the deepest roots terrifies him. But now that Rin knows some of it, the rest feels a little less scary.

\---

_They make it back to Rin’s just past two in the morning. They had shared a lift with Komori on the way back, who had spent the majority of the ride and a large portion of the night looking between them and laughing at random. Osamu doesn’t really get him, but he’s nice. He’s glad Rin’s made friends, even if his taste is potentially lacking._

_They drop Komori off one floor down - in parting, Komori says something about being “surrounded by morons” but it doesn’t make much sense, so Osamu dismisses it - before stumbling out of the elevator themselves. Now Osamu is waiting for Rin to get the door open, tugging at his own sweater while Rin fumbles with the key. “Baby, c’mon. It’s hot out here.”_

_Rin glances back and lets out a short laugh, reaching over to tug at the edge of Osamu’s sweater. It’s already rucked up past his shoulders, his arms entirely free. Rin looks gorgeous, Osamu thinks blurrily, with his cheeks flushed pink from too many shots and his eyes sparkling and nearly closed under the weight of his intoxication._

_“You can’t take your shirt off out here, hold on-” Rin snorts again when Osamu’s hands go belligerently to his belt buckle. “Fuck, ‘Samu, you’re drunk.”_

_“Takes one t’ know one.”_

_“Stop it.” Rin laughs again and finally manages to wedge the right key into the lock. He stumbles into the genkan and Osamu follows, pulling his belt from it’s loops with a loud snap._

_“Shh.” Rin is still giggling, trying to unzip his boots without falling over. His keys are in a sad pile on the rug beside Osamu’s sweater. “Shh, ‘Tsumu’s sick, remember?”_

_“Oh- ‘Tsumu-” Osamu drops his belt and trudges deeper into the apartment, his jeans barely clinging to his hips. He’d managed to get half of the buttons open with one triumphant yank as he kicked away his shoes. “‘Tsumu.”_

_“Shh,” Rin reminds, like a hypocrite. He’s still struggling to silence his own laughter._

_“I forgot he was sick-” Osamu walks directly into the back of the couch and blinks hazily over the edge. “Rin, it’s dark.”_

_“It’s night- umph.” Rin knocks into his back, spider-arms looping around him. “Night time.”_

_“Right.” Osamu leans forward and Rin snorts against his neck, leaning with him. Osamu blinks rapidly, adjusting to the vague glow of light from Rin’s bathroom. Atsumu is sprawled on the couch, one hand curled in his own hair, the other dragging the floor. His blanket is tangled around his legs and his mouth is hanging open._

_“Awe,” Rin coos._

_“I hate him,” Osamu mutters and reaches down to carefully tug the blanket up to cover him a bit more. Atsumu shifts a little and smacks his lips, turning his face into his pillow. Osamu reaches up, carefully testing the temperature of his forehead. “He’s not warm.”_

_“Is he dead?” Rin is speaking directly in his ear. Actually, Rin is nibbling on it a little. It feels really nice._

_“Nah.” Osamu straightens back up and reaches back to tug at Rin’s hair. “Rin, I’m horny.”_

_“You’re always horny when you’re drunk.” Rin grinds against him once and Osamu can feel his teeth against his throat. “I figured from the way you started stripping in the hallway.”_

_“Are you makin’ fun-” Osamu wobbles on his feet and laughs when Rin shushes him again. “Fuck- bed.”_

_Rin nudges him along, hands sliding down to grope at Osamu through his jeans. “Fuck me, ‘Samu?”_

_Osamu groans and pushes the door closed behind them. “Dunno if I’m that coordinated-”_

_“Ride you?” Rin nuzzles into his shoulder and Osamu’s knees nearly buckle._

_“Uh-huh. Yeah. Sounds good.”_

_Osamu struggles out of the last of his clothes and by the time he’s naked, Rin is naked too, and fumbling through the bedside table. “Want me to finger ya?”_

_“No. I want you in me like, yesterday,” Rin mumbles, and collapses onto the bed, holding up a bottle of lube triumphantly. Osamu snorts and rolls onto the bed beside him, shifting close enough to catch him in a messy kiss. Rin shifts them again, rolling to straddle Osamu’s waist._

_Osamu is a little dizzy with it. He looks up at Rin, backlit by the glow of his bathroom light, and wonders if he’s an actual angel. “Shit, Rin. Yer fuckin’ gorgeous.”_

_Rin grins and makes a bit of a show out of drizzling lube on his own fingers. He pushes himself up to his knees and reaches back to finger himself, only to immediately tip forward. He barely catches himself with his free hand, inches away from head-butting Osamu._

_He looks mortified. Osamu slaps a hand over his mouth to stop a peel of laughter, patting at Rin’s side with his other hand. “Oh, baby-”_

_“Shut up, shut up-” Rin rights himself again and looks away, cheeks flushed. “See if I let you fuck me with that kind of attitude-”_

_“If yer not gonna let me fuck ya, why’re ya still openin’ yerself up?” Osamu shifts up onto his elbows and ignores the way the room spins. He focuses on the soft skin of Rin’s belly instead, pressing kisses across his abs at random just to feel the flutter beneath his lips. “S’cute.”_

_“Huh?” Rin glances down at him and he’s still flushed, but his mouth has gone soft and half open. Osamu reaches down to palm himself, shivering._

_“S’cute how ticklish ya are.”_

_Rin grins loosely. “You think I’m cute?” He must do something with his fingers, because the smile disappears in a broken moan and Osamu’s cock twitches in his hand._

_“You know I think so.” Osamu stretches up, grazing his teeth across Rin’s right nipple. He latches onto it and rolls it between his teeth when Rin arches forward with a muffled gasp._

_He loses track of time like that, lavishing attention across Rin’s chest with his hands curled around his hips. The spell is broken when Rin almost falls on top of him again as he pulls his fingers free. Osamu stabilizes him this time and grins. “Yer clumsy.”_

_“I’m also drunk.” Rin scoots along his body and reaches back, lube-slick hand wrapping around him. “And horny.”_

_Osamu is abruptly reminded of his own arousal. He had somehow forgotten it in between sucking deep bruises into Rin’s pecks and dragging his teeth across his nipples in a way that sometimes, when Osamu is very lucky, makes Rin mewl._

_Rin is holding back a little noise now, actually, as he slowly sinks down on Osamu’s cock. Osamu makes a short noise, all the air punched abruptly from his chest. He’s squeezing Rin’s hips too hard, he knows he is, but it’s the only thing keeping him from instinctively thrusting up. It doesn’t take long for Rin to bottom out, a breathy, short, “Ah-”_ _sneaking past his lips._

_“Rin, fuck-”_

_“Not gonna last,” Rin says in a rush. Osamu can tell, actually, from the way he’s already clenching around him._

_“Shit.” Osamu shifts, lifting his knees enough to give Rin something to lean against. “Go on, Rin.”_

_Rin braces one hand against Osamu’s knee and curls the other around his shoulder, and finally starts moving. Osamu keeps his hands on him, just as an extra support, and watches him in awe. Rin is his most gorgeous just like this; when he’s flushed with arousal, when his muscles are flexing with each controlled movement, when his teeth are digging into his lower lip to keep him quiet even if little noises are slipping past anyway._

_“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” Osamu mumbles, because it’s all he can think. He shifts carefully to make sure they’re both still stable, before thrusting up to meet Rin’s pace. Rin makes a wounded noise, head tipping forward. His lip is free and he’s panting, soft and high. Osamu doubles his efforts and earns a little whimper as his reward. “Fuck, Rin, look at ya. Wish ya could see how pretty you are right now. Pink and pretty, just for me.”_

_“‘Samu- ‘Samu, yeah-” Rin shifts forward, dropping his elbows onto Osamu’s shoulder. The angle brings them closer together and Osamu wraps his arms around him to grip his shoulders, pulling him down into each thrust._

_“Just for me,” he repeats, and the alcohol makes it easy to forget that it’s not true. He moans, a little too loud. Rin slides a hand over his mouth to silence him and presses their foreheads together. A few tears are clinging to his lashes, and if Osamu’s mouth wasn’t trapped, he’d lick them away._

_“Shh,” Rin says. His voice is thready and weak, the way it always is when he’s close. “We’ve got a guest, re- mm-” Rin grinds down and that’s normal too. He always gives up on moving at some point, more interested in feeling the constant pressure of Osamu inside him. Osamu sinks his teeth into Rin’s palm, using his grip on his shoulders to pull him closer. “‘Samu, ‘m gonna-”_

_Osamu sucks at his palm, watching the way Rin’s face changes, mouth lax and eyes crinkled tight as he comes. He feels the spasm of Rin’s body around him and lets himself follow him over the edge, and says, “I love you,” only because he knows the words are unintelligible under Rin’s steady hand._

_\---_

Osamu wakes up confused. It’s still early. He can tell by the watery morning light barely cutting past his drawn curtains. It makes his room look foreign around him and it takes so long for him to remember where he is, that the realization that someone is moving beneath his covers comes as a shock.

He sucks in a breath and drags a hand over the sheets with a confused mumble. “Rin-”

The blankets shift and slide back, and yeah, there’s Rin. Rin, who is laying between his legs with Osamu’s cock in his mouth and a finger lazily nudging beneath his balls and- yeah. That would explain why waking up actually felt kind of good today.

“Fuck,” Osamu moans, and closes his eyes again. He clings to the last vestiges of sleep and curls clumsy fingers into Rin’s hair as vague encouragement. Rin hums back at him, head bobbing under his touch. It’s not the first time he’s woken up like this. Retrospectively, it’s another one of the things that makes it obvious that nothing between the two of them has ever been _one-sided._

Today _is_ the first time Osamu doesn’t fluster under his touch or try to reciprocate. He just rides the waves of drowsy pleasure and only moves when Rin makes him. He let’s Rin push his legs apart and relaxes as clever fingers press into him, curling exactly right to make him sigh and shiver. He’s still a little loose from the night before, so the stretch is welcome instead of unpleasant. He mumbles quiet complaints when Rin presses his hips down to keep him from rocking into his mouth and whines when Rin takes him as deep as he can, throat constricting around him until he has no choice but to come with a breathy sigh.

Osamu finally opens his eyes when Rin crawls over him. Rin’s lips are swollen and he still looks nearly half-asleep himself. Osamu lifts a hand to trace the faint arch of his cupid’s bow and smiles. “Mornin’, gorgeous.”

“Morning.” Rin leans down and gives him a brief kiss, nudging their noses lightly. “Love you.”

Osamu shivers and slides his arms around Rin’s waist, leaning into another slow kiss. Even though Rin had said it plenty the night before, each confession feels brand new. “Love you, Rin.”

Rin smiles, loose and content, and leans down to kiss him again. He licks lazily past his lips and Osamu chases the taste of himself across Rin’s soft palate with a quiet hum. He coaxes Rin closer slowly, first with gentle hands between his shoulder blades, then with firm thighs around his hips, and finally with careful nudges of his heel until Rin sinks into him with a slow roll of his hips. This time, they come apart together, mouths separating only to gasp for air and murmur starstruck repetitions of _I love you._

“Is this gonna be every mornin’ now that I locked ya down?” Osamu asks a little later. Rin had half-heartedly wiped them both down with a tissue before collapsing on Osamu’s chest. Osamu still feels uncomfortably sticky, and there’s the whole _come in the ass_ issue that’s only getting worse the longer they lay here, but he can’t work up the energy to move.

Rin tilts his head a little, butting into Osamu’s palm like a cat. Osamu snorts and scratches behind his ear, smirking at Rin’s irritated squint. “ _You_ locked _me_ down.”

“Mmhm.” Osamu gives his ear a tug before returning to carefully petting his hair, loosening the sleep-tangles Rin has always been prone to.

“Yeah.” Rin sighs and nuzzles into Osamu’s bare chest, dropping a kiss idly against his skin. “Any morning you want it to.”

“Shoulda asked ya out sooner then.” Osamu closes his eyes and smiles at the soft vibration of Rin’s laughter.

They stay like that long enough that the mess between his legs is becoming enough of an issue for Osamu to feel motivated to do something about it. Before he can open his mouth to suggest a shower, Rin says, “I think you should move to Osaka, ‘Samu.”

Osamu’s mouth clamps shut and he lifts his head to look down at Rin with a confused furrow of his brow. Rin is already looking at him, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Osamu’s side.

“Why? If I move, why wouldn’t I just…” Osamu frowns at the soft curl of Rin’s mouth. “Why wouldn’t I move to Nagoya to be with you?”

Rin shifts, rolling to lay beside Osamu so they can look at each other properly. “I don’t want you to make a change like that for me.”

“I would.”

“I know.” Rin flashes a brief grin and squeezes Osamu’s cheeks in one hand. “I don’t have any doubt that you’d do anything for me.”

“I would,” Osamu confirms, even though the words come out slurred under the pinch of Rin’s hand. They had _just_ agreed to be honest, after all.

Rin’s smile softens and he releases Osamu’s jaw to cup his cheek instead. “As much as it pains me to say it, I think you need your brother more than me.”

“ _Ew._ ” Osamu frowns, knocking his fist lightly against Rin’s chest. “Do not.”

Rin snorts and catches his hand, pressing Osamu’s palm to his chest. “And you need to be close to your mother. Akako-chan would murder me if I dragged you off to Nagoya.”

“She could deal with it,” Osamu grumbles.

“She could certainly hide my body.” Rin leans in, pressing a brief kiss against the pout Osamu doesn’t mean to have on display.

“She wouldn’t actually kill ya.” 

“I’m not so sure.” Rin huffs a laugh, bumping their foreheads together. “And if you move to Nagoya, it’s not like I’ll stop traveling. You’d just be alone there instead of here.”

“‘Tsumu travels too,” Osamu points out, but it’s a weak defense.

“And Osaka is closer to home. You know more people there. Gin and Kosaku are both taking classes in the city, right?” Rin arches a brow. “So you’d have company.”

“I don’t even like them,” Osamu mutters.

“Liar.”

“Okay, I like them.” Osamu shifts closer and tries to untangle the uncomfortable emotions in his chest. Rin is watching him, hand settled against the curve of his jaw.

As fucking usual, Rin isn’t wrong. Osamu _does_ need Atsumu. The last few weeks had made that abundantly, annoyingly clear. And Osamu doesn’t want to be too far from their mother. The thought of leaving her alone, in their little house that was built for four, makes Osamu’s chest ache. But he also wants, desperately, for _Rin._

“How are you gonna blow me if I’m in Osaka?”

Rin huffs a laugh and snaps his teeth vaguely in the direction of Osamu’s nose. “I see how it is.”

“I’m just saying.” Osamu sighs and lifts his hands to frame Rin’s face. Honesty. “I love you. I want to be with you. I miss you too much.”

Rin’s hands cup his jaw in return, thumbs stroking a delicate path across the arch of his cheekbone. “I’ll only be two hours away instead of four. I can get on a train after practice and come see you any day you want. We would make it work.”

“Or I could come see you,” Osamu points out. He’s still stuck on the idea of _needing_ too much, and Rin has been the one doing the majority of the travel since he moved. Osamu is going to pull his weight. It has to be different, this time.

Rin smirks. “So you agree. You think living in Osaka could work.”

Osamu sighs heavily and pinches Rin’s cheek. “It could.”

“Then that’s the first step of phase two.” Rin pats his cheek roughly in retaliation. “What else?”

“Could we hold off on planning the rest of my life until after I wash your jizz out of my ass?” Osamu glowers and Rin jerks out of his hold, rolling onto his back with an unattractive wheeze of laughter.

Osamu cannot believe his _boyfriend_ is such a dick. He can’t believe he wouldn’t want it any other way.

\---

_Inarizaki High is the largest school Rin has ever attended. He had visited the campus with his parents after he’d been recruited. Their tour guide had been an overly-eager first year. She had divided her time evenly between explaining the school’s layout and looking at Rin with stars in her eyes. He had been woefully unimpressed with both the tour and her nervous flirtation._

_He blames his secondhand embarrassment on her behalf for his inability to remember a fucking thing about his new campus._

_His entire first day is a comedy of errors. He gets lost on his way to school, despite the fact that he had assured his mother nearly seven times that yes, he remembered the way. He misses his first period and spends an hour in the office trying to get his schedule - which he had also misplaced. He can’t focus once he’s in class, because it seems everyone else is studying him instead of whatever their teacher is saying._

_The thought of meeting his new team is what gets him through the day. He’d met the captain and the coach already, and they seemed nice enough. More importantly, they seemed serious about volleyball, and as bad as Rin believes it is for his brand to care about anything, he cares very much about volleyball._

_So it’s a bit of a bummer when he somehow gets turned around and ends up slumping towards the gym a full ten minutes late for his first practice. He takes a moment to pause outside and makes sure his face is schooled into something nonchalant, rather than allowing any of his accumulated stress to bleed through._

_He leans close to the door, straining his ears a bit to hear with one eye squinted closed. He can’t make out the familiar squeak of shoes against the court, or the slap of serves hitting the floor. All he can hear is the muffled murmur of voices, and he thinks he might be safe to sneak in unnoticed after all, when a sharp clap cuts through the noise._

_“Alright,” someone yells. It sounds like the captain. “Welcome to Inarizaki, boys-” Rin winces, because he’s definitely one of the boys being addressed, then another voice interjects._

_“Hold on. Yer the Miya brats-”_

_Rin leans back a bit at the distressed shout that follows, and immediately has to press his ear to the wood again to make out the reply. It sounds like the voice says something about biting, before there’s an echoing response of, “He does!”_

_Rin thinks he’s heard something about a pair of twins from the Hyogo prefecture, but he can’t remember anything beyond them being pretty good for their age. And if people that good are on this team, Rin feels a little more confident in his decision to pick up his_ _(and by extension, his parent’s)_ _whole life_ _and ditch his little sister at a Tokyo boarding school to play here._

_There’s further murmuring that he can’t quite distinguish. He hears a timid voice give an introduction, then-_

_“We’re missin’ one,” the not-captain states. And Rin supposes that’s his cue. “The recruit from Aichi-”_

_“Sorry. I got lost,” Rin says, as monotone as he can manage, when he steps through the door._

_Everyone is staring at him again. It makes the hair at the back of his neck stand-up and his shoulders threaten to lock with discomfort, but at least this time he deserves a little bit of that spotlight. He glances around, searching for the familiar face of the captain, and-_

_Clearly he was right about there being twins, even if they aren’t actually the twins he thinks they are. They’re standing side-by-side at the edge of the court like a pair of carbon copies. But they aren’t copies, not really. One of them has cheeks puffed out and blotched with irritation and he barely spares a glance in Rin’s direction before looking back towards the upperclassmen. This Miya looks like he’s trying to seem bigger than he is and is exuding some sort of misplaced confidence._

_The other Miya is staring right at Rin with hooded grey eyes. Compared to his twin, who is nearly vibrating with repressed energy, he seems relaxed. His mouth is shaped into a soft oh that shows a peek of teeth._

_It’s cute, Rin thinks._

_It’s also cute how his hair falls, messy and dark, across his forehead. His cheeks are a little round, a little soft, and Rin wants to squish them between his hands. It’s even cute how he stands with his chin tucked down towards his chest just a little, like he’s on his guard and spoiling for a fight, despite his apparent calm. There’s something unassuming about him and Rin finds that odd. It’s odd because Rin decides that this Miya is probably the cutest boy he has ever seen._

_This Miya is still staring, even though almost everyone else has already looked away, and Rin feels a bit like everything is shifting just a fraction to the left. His fingers and toes are tingling, like something electric is stirring in the air._

_He can’t help the way his lips curl as he meets his gaze. His smile widens when those soft cheeks turn a delicate pink, hooded eyes widening a fraction before finally snapping away to stare at the floor. His chin tucks closer to his chest._

_Squashing his grin takes conscious effort as he steps into line beside the twins and says, “I’m Suna Rintarou.” He sees his Miya’s head tilt in his direction, just a little. Rin has never felt so much like smiling. "Sorry I’m late.”_

**Author's Note:**

> so, the vibes around here are a little different, huh?
> 
> writing this was super hard and super fun and super cathartic. i hope you enjoy reading it half as much as i enjoyed writing it.
> 
> BIG BIG BIG thanks to a couple of people:  
> to my constant, my darling: RIHALA, the ever amazing beta. she suffered through incessant phone calls, texts, and nudges in a gdoc, and if not for her reassuring me that i was onto something, this fic would never have happened.  
> (she would also like me to clarify a statement i made on her behalf in the A/N in [again, like this]. she does in fact "go here" and is a haikyuu stan. she just hasn't watched season four yet, sooooo... is she)
> 
> to MEEKS! thank you for taking the time to help me and being the sweetest human ever. bokuaka just for u (and okay, for me)
> 
> and to AO3 user cdn: if you see this, i maintain that you are the one who psychically nudged me into writing this whole thing, so smooches!!  
> 
> 
> [tumblr](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/noodletastix)


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